CIHM 

ICMH 

Microfiche 

Collection  de                  ■ 

Series 

microfiches 

(Monographs) 

(monographies) 

Canadian  Instituta  for  Historical  MIcroraproduction.  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


1 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  technique  et  bibliogtaphiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


D 

D 

□ 
D 
0 

0 
D 

D 
D 

D 


D 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaur^  et/ou  pelliculee 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustratk>ns  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  editton  available  / 
Seule  edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serr6e  peut 
causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de 
la  marge  interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoratk>ns  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines 
pages  blanches  ajout^es  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  kirsque  cela  dtait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  ^  film^es. 


Additk>nal  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  examplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
et6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire  qui  sont  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifications  dans  la  meth- 
ode  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 

j     I     Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I     [      Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 

I     I      Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
—      Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pelteulees 


0 

D 
0 
D 

D 

0 


D 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  decolorees,  tachet^s  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached  /  Pages  d^tach^es 

Showthrough  /  Transparence 

Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Qualite  inhale  de  i'impression 

includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image  /  Les  pages 
totalement  ou  partiellement  obscurcies  par  un 
feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure,  etc.,  ont  6te  filmees 
a  nouveau  de  fafon  k  obtenir  la  meilleure 
image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the 
best  possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant 
ayant  des  colorations  variables  ou  des  decol- 
orations sont  filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la 
meilleur  Image  possible. 


This  ittm  is  f  ilmad  at  the  reduction  ratio  cheeked  below/ 


Cede 
lOX 

cumei 

nest 

fiime 

au  tai 

14X 

jxdc 

rMuc 

tion  ii 

Hliqui 
18X 

eci-de 

ssous 

22X 

26X 

30X 

7 

12X 

1CX 

20X 

24X 

28  X 

32  X 

The  copy  filmsd  h«r«  hM  bMn  rcproduead  thanks 
*o  th«  ganarosity  of: 

MoritMt  Library 
Univtnity  of  Ottawa 


L'axamplairo  fllm4  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
ginArosM  da: 

Bibliothiqua  Moritsat 
UnivanM  d'Ottawa 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  boat  quality 
poaaibia  eonaldaring  tha  condition  and  laglbiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spacificationa. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  eovars  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tita  front  eovar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  Impraa- 
sion,  or  tha  bacic  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  ^»-  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (maaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appliaa. 

Maps,  plataa,  charts,  ate.,  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thoaa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axpoaura  ara  filmad 
baginning  In  tha  uppar  laft  hand  comar,  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framaa  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrams  illuatrata  tha 
mathod: 


Laa  imagaa  suhrantaa  ont  At4  raproduitaa  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  I'axamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conformity  avac  laa  conditions  du  contrat  da 
flimaga. 

Laa  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  Imprimte  sont  filmte  an  commandant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darniira  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  dlilustration.  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Toua  laa  autras  axamplairaa 
originaux  aont  fllmis  an  comman^nt  par  la 
pramlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  d'iilustration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  damMra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talia 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symbolaa  suhranta  apparattra  sur  la 
damiira  Imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
caa:  la  symbola  -*•  signifia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
symbols  V  signifia  "FIN". 

Laa  cartaa.  planchaa,  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  *tra 
fllmte  i  daa  taux  da  rMuction  diff«rants. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  ttra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clich«.  11  att  film*  i  partir 
da  I'anglo  sup4riaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  k  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  baa,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nieaaaaira.  I.aa  diagrammaa  suivants 
illustrant  la  mithoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICROCOfV 


BBOIUTION   TiST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


!■■ 

M2B 

1b 

II^H 

Urn 

iSi 

lii 

|3j6 

Its 

lit 

Ib 

2.0 


A    >1PPLIED  IN/MGE 


'653  East  Main  Street 

Roctiester.    Neai   York         14609       USA 

(716)   482  -  0300-  Phone 

(716)   288 -5989 -Fax 


Rt.  Rev,  Alexander  MacDonald,  D.  D. 


t.   H 


STRAY  LEAVES 

OR 

TRACES  of  TRAVEL 


• 


^■>\\>- 


•Cs'- 


o. 


>/■ 


RT.  REV.  ALEX.  MacDONALD.  D.D. 
■naop  OP  vicToiUA,  b.  q. 


A 


NEW  YORK 
CHRISTIAN  PRESS  ASSOCUHON 


BOLD  FOB  THB  PROPAGATION  OF  THB  FAITH  : 
PRICE,  11.00. 


Copyright 

Br 

CHRISTIAN  PRESS  ASSOCIATION 

PUBLISHING  CO. 

1914 


CONTENTS 


Thb  Sound  or  Anothbr  Sea 7 

Thb  Diary  op  a  Pilgrim 9 

On  the  misty  Atlantic i6_24 

London  and  Paris 26-36 

Paray  le  Monial 3Y_43 

Geneva,  Berne,  Interlaken 48-53 

Milan  and  Venice 54 

^°™« 56-58 

Florence  and  Genoa 69-63 

Loordes.... Qi-71 

Jottings  of  a  Trip  in  Scotland 72-95 

RoME-A  Christmas  Reminiscence 96-104 

The  Roses  op  Assisi 106-107 

Prom  New  York  to  Naples 108-130 

From  Naples  to  Cairo 131-140 

Through  Spain 141-154 

LouRDEs  Revisited 165-160 

A  Few  More  Stray  Leaves  and  Traces....  161-170 


TO 


MY  FELLOW  PILGRIMS. 


THE  SOUND  OF   ANOTHER  SEA 

Breaks  upon  mine  ear 
The  sound  of  another  sea, 

Linking  far  with  near — 
That  far  how  near  to  me! 

Echoes  jut  of  the  past. 
Wave-sounds  from  the  shore, 

Woven  in  dreams  at  last 
Of  days  that  are  no  more ; 

Days  that  ebbed  away 

By  the  side  of  another  sea. 

When  h'fe  was  young  and  gay, 
And  all  its  ways  were  free. 
—Victoria,  B.  C  ,  January  i,  19 lo. 


I 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


Wednesday,  June  2,  1900 

I E  leave  Montreal  in  a  great  downpour 
of  rain — a  perfect  deluge.  In  spite 
of  the  rain,  there  are  many  gathered 
on  the  pier  to  see  us  off.  There  is  mutual  wav- 
ing of  handkerchiefs,  and  exchange  of  fare- 
wells. The  ram  descends  in  torrents,  type  and 
token  of  God's  manifold  blessings,  so  at  least 
we  pilgrims  are  fain  to  look  upon  it.  As  our 
ship  frees  herself  from  her  moorings,  and 
glides  into  the  stream,  one  fond  pilgrim  is 
overheard  remarking  that  Montreal  is  weeping 
over  our  departure.  And  such  copious  tears  as 
they  are,  too! 

Last  evening  at  eight,  we  ail  met  at  the  Ca- 
thedral, St.  James's,  to  assist  at  Pontifical 
Benediction  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  The 
great  church,  modelled  on  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 
—one-Iialf  of  its  length  and  one-eighth  of  its 


10       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGHIM 

cuKc  content»-was  thronged.     The  Arch- 
bishop gave  the  Benediction,  and  afterwards 
from   h.s  throne  addressed   the  pilgrims   in 
French.      He   looked   every   inch  of   him   a 
Bishop,    and    spoke   with   great    dignity   and 
sweetness,  in  a  rirh,  clear  voice.     He 'seems 
well  fitted  to  rule  the  Church  of  QkI  in  Mary's 
City-the  great   Catholic   city   of    Montreal. 
which,  with  its  grand  churclu's.  its  splendid 
educational  and  charitable  institutions,  makes 
the  pilgrim  prouder  of  his  Faith  and  of  his 
country. 

We  reach  Quebec  at  7  p.  m.     Carriages- 
cabs,  caleches.  and  vehicles  of  all  sorts— are  in 
readiness  to  convey  the  pilgrim  partv  to  the 
Chapel  c  '  the  Ursulines.     Here  for  'the  first 
time  m  Canada  Mass  was  oflFered  in  honour  of 
the  Sacred  Heart.     The  Ursulines  of  Quebec 
were  fotmded  by  the  Blessed  Mary  of  the  In- 
camation-the   first   religious    foundation   in 
Canada.    They  are  a  cloistered  Order.     From 
behind  their  gratings  the  nuns  sing,  in  their 
sweet  voices,  the  Benediction  Service,  which  is 
preceded  by  a  stirring  address  in  French  to  the 
pilgrims.     At  nine   we   are   back   on   board 
There  are  ringing  cheers  from  the  shore,  and 
hearty  cries  of  bon  voyage.    On  the  ship,  many 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        11 

of  thf  pilgrims  join  in  singing  a  French  chan- 
son, with  its  lively  chorus.  "  Bon  soir.  mes 
amis,  bon  soir!"  Scarcely  has  the  last  note 
died  away  when  the  ship's  bugler  breaks  out  in 
the  familiar  strains  of  Auld  Ung  Sync.  vVc 
slip  our  moorings,  and  are  off. 

Down  the  river  we  glide  .swiftly  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  night.     On  either  bank  is  a  fine 
stretch  of  fertile  land  studded  with  picturesque 
villages,  and  dotted  with  the  houses  of  les 
habitants.     Now  it  lies  as  if  asleep,  wrapped 
in  the  mantle  of  night.    We  see  but  in  shadowy 
outline  the  Laurentian  hills,  rising  out  of  the 
darkness.     What  a  majestic  river  is  this  St. 
Lawrence!    There  is  nothing  like  it  in  Amer- 
ica—in all  the  wide  world.     The  scenery  on 
the  Hudson  is  very  pictures(|ue  in  places,  and 
somewhat    more   varied,    perhaps.      But   one 
misses  there  the  fine  expanse  of  open  country, 
with  its  setting  of  mountains,  and  the  river 
itself  lacks  the  breadth  and  grandeur  of  the  St. 
Lawrence. 

*     ♦    ♦ 


: 


\ 


1%       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

Pentecost  Sunday,  June  3. 

Nine  or  ten  pilgrims  have  joined  us  at  Que- 
bec.    We  are  now  ninety-two  in  all,  including 
twenty-three  priests.      There   is  also  another 
priest  on  board,  who  is  not  a  pilgrim.    It  is  the 
feast   of   Pentecost,   and   all   the  priests   say 
Mass.     There  are  Masses  all  the  morning  at 
two  altars— such  altars   as   men  hastily   im- 
provise on  board  ship— from  4.30  to  10.    The 
space  between  decks,  forward  of  the  saloon, 
has  been  turned  into  a  chapel.    Around  about 
most  of  the  pilgrims  have  their  staterooms. 
At    the    seven    o'clock    Mass,    celebrated    by 
Father  Pichon,  S.  J.,  director  of  the  French 
section  of  the  pilgrimage,  the  Veni  Creator 
is  sung  with  fine  effect.    Some  of  these  French 
Canadian  priests  and  several  of  the  lay  pil- 
grims, too,  have  splendid  voices,  trained  in  the 
music  of  the  Church. 

In  the  afternoon  we  assemble  in  our  chapel 
to  sing  the  vespers  of  the  day.  Several  of  the 
lay  pilgrims,  men  and  women,  lend  their  voices, 
and  the  ship  resounds  with  the  strains  of  the 
divine  psalmody,  the  Veni  Creator,  and  the 
Magnificat.  What  fine  voices  these  French 
Canadians  have,  and  how  well  they  know  the 


I 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        13 

chant  of  the  Church!  Even  the  lay  pilgrims 
sing  the  psalms  and  hymns  in  Latin,  recite 
with  us  the  Litany  of  Loreto  in  Latin,  and 
seem  to  understand  every  word  of  what  they 
sing  or  say. 

In  the  evening  at  eight  there  is  service  in 
English.   We  sing  two  hymns :— Nearer  My 
God  to  Thee,  and,  Come  Holy  Ghost.     Many 
of  the  French  priests  and  lay  pilgrims  join  us 
in  singing.     Father  Kavanagh,  S.  J.,  director 
of  the  English-speaking  pilgrims,  gives  an  in- 
struction on  the  mission  and  work  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.     This  is   followed  by  the  Rosary  in 
English,  and  Night  Prayers  in  French.    Every 
day  we  say  the  Rosary  together,  in  French  at 
330  p.  m.,  and  in  English  at  8.30.    Every  day, 
too,  hymns  are  sung  to  our  Blessed  Lady,  the 
Ave  Maris  Stella  and  her  own  canticle  of  the 
Magnificat  being  our  favourites. 

All  day  long  we  steam  down  the  St.  Law- 
rence, hugging  the  southern  bank.  Early  in 
the  afternoon,  the  mountains  of  St.  Anne  are 
seen  in  the  distance.  They  rise  to  a  height  of 
from  two  to  three  thousand  feet,  back  of  the 
hills  that  border  on  the  river.  Their  summits 
and  shoulders  are  white  with  snow.  It  forms 
a  pleasing  contrast  to  the  blue  of  the  river,  and 


14        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

the  green  of  the  fields  that  lie  at  their  feet. 
By  this  time  all  trace  of  tears  has  been  wiped 
away  from  the  face  of  the  June  sky,  which 
smiles  benignantly  upon  us.  It  is  glorious 
weather. 


Monday,  June  4. 

We  have  passed  Gaspe,  and  are  in  the  Gulf. 
To  the  south,  Bird  Rock  is  dimly  seen.  Our 
passenger  ''.t — ^already  a  long  one — has  re- 
ceived an  addition  during  the  night.  Two 
Hirds,  the  smaller  a  sparrow,  boarded  the  ship, 

-ost  likely  before  we  were  yet  fairly  away 
from  land.  They  are  objects  of  much  interest 
to  their  fellow-passengers.  The  larger  bird, 
which  the  sailors  take  to  be  "  a  howl  "  (as  one 
of  them  expresses  it),  proves,  on  closer  and 
more  careful  scrutiny,  to  be  a  hawk.  Jack- 
tar  is  not  an  ornithologist.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  feathery  tribe  seems  to  be  confined  to 
a  few  aquatic  birds,  such  as  seagulls  and 
Mother  Carey's  chickens.  As  for  land  birds,  it 
is  probable  that  he  doesn't  even  "  know  a  hawk 
from  a  handsaw."  much  less  from  "  a  howl." 

The  presence  of  the  birds  on  board  gives 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        15 

rise  to  not  a  little  speculation.    Why  hath  the 
sparrow  left  its  cosy  nest  and  the  hawk  its  home 
on  the  dry  land,  to  roam  over  this  waste  of 
wa  ers?    Some  say  that  the  birds  are  stealing 
a    free   passage   to   Newfoundland.      Others 
sagely  taking  into  account  how  ill-assorted  the 
pair  are.  reach  a  more  likely  solution  of  the 
pu..lmg  p.obl  The  hawk,  they  say.  sal! 

breaks  '"  ^^^'^  ^^^  ^^  ^-^  Hself  a 
breakfast.  The  sparrow  was  already  abroad 
on  s,mdar  m,ss:on  bent.  Chased  by  the  pirate 
of  the  air  and  having  a  natural  dislike  to  be- 
come  tood  for  its  hungry  pursuer,  instead  of 
gettmg  something  to  appease  its  own  hunger 

foir^^'K"'"^'. ''"  *'^  P^^^'"^  -^^'P'  ^^o-iy 

Nevvfoundland  the  birds  leave  us  and  fly  land- 
ward.    But  whether  the  smaller  was  inside 

By  ro.30  a.  m.  we  are  abreast  of  Cape  Ray 
As  we  steam  by  Channel,  otherwise  known  as 

the  Flf' n''  """  ^''''^  '^'  "^^-^^'^^  hulk  of 
the  Elder-Dempster  liner.  Montpellier.  wrecked 
here  some  weeks  ago.  Even  the  good  ship 
Vancouver  m,ght  be  cast  away  on  these  cruel 


16        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

rocks,  as  was  her  sister  ship,  the  Chicago,  on 
the  rocks  of  Kinsale.  This  is  the  thought  that 
comes  to  one's  mind  as  one  gazes  on  the 
stranded  ship.  But  the  smiling  June  sky, 
radiant  with  sunshine,  chases  it  quickly  away, 
and  we  breathe  a  prayer  to  the  heart  of  Him 
who  rules  the  wind  and  the  waves. 

We  are  now  fairly  at  sea,  and  our  ship  has 
made  her  first  bow  to  the  Atlantic  rollers. 
This  token  of  homage  old  Neptune  claims,  nay 
compels,  from  every  ship  that  presses  upon  his 
bosom  and  feels  the  throbbing  of  his  mighty 
heart.  And  full  many  a  one  of  those  who  go 
(i  ./n  to  the  sea  in  ships,  is,  in  like  manner, 
made  to  pay  tribute,  and  never  a  one  but 
grudges  the  payment.  But  the  theme  is  too 
painful  to  dwell  upon. 


Tuesday,  June  5. 

A  little  before  noon  Cape  Race  is  on  our  lar- 
board quarter,  and  in  an  hour  or  two  more  we 
catch  our  last  glimpse  of  Terra  Nova.  The 
weather  is  still  fine,  and  the  sea  comparatively 
smooth.  At  9  p.  m.  a  large  number  of  the  pas- 
sengers gather  in  the  saloon  to  hear  a  lecture 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        17 

on  the  causes  that  led  to  the  war  in  South 
Africa.    The  lecture  is  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Philips, 
an  Anglican  minister,   who  has  spent  seven 
years  as  missionary  among  the  blacks  and  half- 
breeds  of  the   Transvaal.     He  arraigns   the 
Boer  Government  severely  for  its  treatment  of 
the  natives.     The  truth  of  what  he  says  is 
confirmed  by  Father  Kavanagh,  in  seconding 
the  motion  for  a  vote  of  thanks  at  the  close  of 
the  lecture.    He  remembers  quite  well  when  a 
boy  at  Stonyhurst  hearing  the  Jesuit  Fathers 
returned  from  South  Africa,  recount  what  they 
saw  and  heard  of  the  oppression  of  subject 
races  by  the  Boet  -     — H    tale  they  then  told," 
he    says,    "has    been    .  ^old    here    to-night" 
Precisely  at  ii  o'clock  the  sound  of  the  whistle 
warns  us  that  we  have  at  last  run  into  the  in- 
evitable fog.     The  dismal  tooting  is  kept  up 
at  intervals  of  one  or  two  minutes  during  the 
rest  of  the  night. 

>f     *     * 


Wednesday.  June  6. 
A  good  deal  of  motion  in  the  ship;  fewer 
passengers  at  the  breakfast  table.    Still  Masses 
are  celebrated  from  5.30  to  8,  and  several  of 


18        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


the  priests  and  lay  pilgrims  receive  Holy  Com- 
munion. In  the  afternoon,  fogs  again  steal 
upon  us.  They  gather  around  our  ship,  these 
mists  of  the  mighty  Atlantic,  and  envelop  her 
as  with  a  shroud.  They  come  and  go  at  inter- 
vals during  the  afternoon,  forcing  us  to  slow 
down  and  at  times  come  to  a  standstill,  so  great 
is  the  danger  of  collision  with  an  iceberg  or  an 
incoming  ship.  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to 
wait  for  the  fog  to  lift  with  such  patience  as 
one  can  command.  We  pace  the  deck,  or 
withdraw  to  our  staterooms  and  there  listen 
idly  to  the  murmur  of  the  waves  as  they  beat 
against  the  ship,  or  brood  on  the  mystery  of 
the  sobbing  sea. 


Thursday,  June  7. 

From  noon  yesterday  till  noon  to-day  we 
have  covered  316  nautical  miles,  and  are  now 
a  little  more  than  half  way  across  from  Que- 
bec to  Liverpool.  The  log  reads  at  noon: 
Day,  7;  lat.,  30.06  N.;  long.,  38.36;  distance 
run,  316  miles.  Remarks:  Moderate  winds, 
choppy  sea.  The  reader  will  please  bear  in 
mind  that  this  is  from  a  ship's  log,  and  that 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGKIM        19 

the   "remarks"  are  to  be  understood   in  a 
strictly  nautical   sense.      These   "moderate" 
winds  of  ours  would  pass  on  shore  for  some- 
thing between  a  very  stiff  breeze  and  a  moder- 
ate gale.    And  as  for  "choppy  "  seas,  the  At- 
lantic is  not  exactly  a  pond,  though  sometimes 
irreverently  described  as  such  by  the   fellow 
who  has  never  crossed  it,  and  this  choppy  sea 
makes  our  big  ship  reel  and  tumble  about  like 
a  n,an  slightly  more  than  "half  seas  over" 
There  is  a  deal  of  sickness  in  consequence. 
Some  are  unable  to  leave  their  beds.     Others 
manage  to  crawl  on  deck,  but  onlv  to  ne  there 
in  chairs,  silent  and  sullen,  or  mope  about  with 
a  most  woe-begone  appearance.     Even  your 
genial  rover  of  the  seas,  who  has  been  across  a 
score  of  times  and  assures  you  that  he  is  not 
the  least  bit  sick,  is  not  half  so  gay  and  talk- 
ative as  he  was  yesterday  and  the  day  before. 
You  see  there  arc  degrees  and  stages  of  seasick- 
ness, and  one  passes  through  a  great  variety  of 
less  or  more  painful  experiences  before  the  last 
stage  is  reached.     Over  that  final  act  of  the 
nautical  drama  (which  to  the  heartless  onlooker 
IS  too  often  comedy,  but  to  the  chief  actor,  or 
rather  suflTerer.  is  in  the  last  degree  tragic)  we 
willingly  let  the  curtain  fall.    Many  drink  sea- 


It?     M 


to       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

water,  glass  after  glass  of  it,  and  believe  that  it 
relieves  them,  or  keeps  them  from  falling  sick, 
as  the  case  may  be.  I  fancy  I  can  hear  some 
one  say  as  he  reads  this  that  the  remedy  is 
worse  than  the  disease.  But  I  am  quite  sure 
that  the  one  who  says  so  has  never  been  seasick 
— perhaps  never  been  to  sea — in  his  life. 
*    «    * 


f ; 


Friday,  June  8. 

This  morning,  in  spite  of  the  rolling  of  the 
ship,  Masses  were  sa''d  and  several  of  the  pil- 
grims received  Holy  Communion.  There  are 
but  few  English  pilgrims ;  including  cleric  and 
lay,  not  more  than  a  dozen  out  of  the  ninety- 
two.  I  say  English  rather  than  English-speak- 
ing, and  in  contradistinction  to  French,  as 
many  of  the  French  pilgrims  speak  English 
fluently. 

There  is  little  to  break  the  monotony  of  a 
sea  voyage.  One  day  is  just  like  another. 
You  wake  in  the  morning,  rise,  go  through  the 
same  little  round,  turn  in  at  night.  Each  day 
you  seem  to  be  just  where  you  were  the  day 
before.  The  same  voices  call  out  to  you 
"  from  the  vasty  deep."    The  same  sea-waves 


1 


f 

V 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        n 

lift  their  crested  heads,  shake  their  flowing 
manes,  and  sport  and  gambol  in  all  the  wild 
abandon  of  their  unbridled   freedom.     And 
your  vision  is  ever  bounded  by  the  same  nar- 
row horizon.    Anything  is  welcome  that  breaks 
this  sameness,  the  passing  ship,  or  even  the  sea- 
gull  that  wings  its  way  over  the  water      We 
have  met  few  ships.    The  smoke  of  a  steamer 
-of  two  of  them,  indeed.-vvas  descried  yes- 
terday  morning,  and  about  sundown  a  big  ship 
under  shortened  sail  was  seen  beating  her  way 
to  wmdward. 


Saturday,  June  9. 
One  pilgrim,  who  has  been  well  enough  up 
till  now,  ,s  so  sq->amish  to-day  that  he  dare 
not  wnte  even  half  a  dozen  lines  for  fear  of 
consequences.  This  "  leaf."  therefore,  is  all 
but  blank. 


Trinity  Sunday,  June  10. 
The  sea  still  runs  "choppy."     it  has  been 
our  worst  night  since  we  came  on  board- 
rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep."  but  with 


m 


u 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


no  gentle  hand.     The  rocking  continues  this 
morning,  and  Mass  is  said  by  Father  Pichon 
and  one  or  two  other  priests  under  considerable 
difficulties.    In  the  afternoon  vespers  are  sung 
in  the  saloon,  and  in  the  evening,  after  the 
Rosary,  there  is  a  sermon  in  English  by  the 
Rev.  Father  Sloan,  Pastor  of  Fallowfield.  in 
the  diocese  of  Ottawa.    This  is  a  very  distress- 
ing day  to  many  of  the  passengers.     There  is 
longing  for  the  repose  of  smooth  waters   and 
from  four  in  the  afternoon  eager  eyes  are  .-can- 
ning tht  distant  horizon,  in  front  of  us,  for  a 
sight  of  land.    At  six  it  is  sighted—a  vast  rock- 
in  the  form  of  a  cathedral,  known  as  the  "  Skel- 
ligs,"  and  by  ten  we  are  steering  straight  for 
the  Fastnet  Light  which  flashes  its  welcome 
rays  upon  us  at  intervals  of  a  few  seconds. 
The  anger  of  ocean  is  fast  subsiding,  the  stars 
are  out.  and  the  Irish  moon  looks  down  up 
us  from  a  cloudless  sky.    It  is  the  feast  of  tl 
Most  Holy  Trinity,  and  to-night,  as  in  all  th 
nights  since  His  creative  hand  hung  those  orbs 
in  space,  "The  heavens  proclaim  His  glory, 
and  the  firmament  of  heaven  shows  forth  the 
work  of  His  hands." 

0     *     * 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGKIM        23 


Monday,  June  ii. 

T  have  spoken  o^  Mas5*s  said  under  diffi- 
culties  There  are  difficulties  and  difficulties. 
V^  hile  I  wrs  serving  Father  Kavanagh's  Mass 
at  8  o  clock  this  morning,  voices  pitched  in  a 
high  key  came  from  a  stateroom  hard  f)v 
Th,s  IS  what  the  voices  said-needless  to  sav 
the  .wner.  were  neither  pilgrims  nor  of  the 
household  of  the  faith  : 

Male  voice :  "  Open  the  porthole  " 

Female  voice,  from  an  adjoining  stateroom, 
shnll,  as  ,f  in  anger:  "Do  you  command? 
Are  you  'boss'?"  (The  bedroom  steward 
alone  may  open  the  porthole). 

Male  voice:   "Mine  is  open." 

Female  voice  (sarcastically) :    '•  Don't  fall 
rough. 

We  are  now  in  St.  George's  Channel.  On 
^r  nght  but  not  in  view,  is  the  coast  of 
Wales.  On  our  left  the  coast  of  Ireland  is 
Plamly  v.s.ble.  With  a  pair  of  glasses  we  can 
see  cottages,  churches,  and  the  green,  green 
fields  of  Erin.    We  shall  be  in  Liverpool  about 

Zu^l'^n  '"""'^^'     ^^'''  I  ^'"  "'^'l  this 
batch  of    leaves  "  which  have  at  least  the  meric 


t4        THK  DIARY  OF  A  PII^ORIM 

of  continuity.  Others  to  follow  will  neces- 
sarily be  scnttered  and  disconnected—stray 
leaves  blown  about  by  every  wind  of  travel. 

*    «    « 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        ao 


"St 

f 


Paris,  Monday,  June  i8. 
E  reached  Liverpool  a  week  apo  to- 
day.    It  was  about  ten  a.  m.  when 
we    entered     the    Mersey,     havinjj 
l)een  detained  by   fog   for  sonic  time  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river.     The   famous  docks  of 
the    city,    stretching    i„r    six    miles    on    the 
left  bank  of  the  Mersey,  as  you  enter,  were 
lighted  with  electricity,  pre.senting  a  brilliant 
spectacle.     At  ten  the  next  morning  we  were 
on  our  way  to  London  by  the  Great  Western 
R.  R..  which  runs  through  some  of  the  finest 
parts  of  England.      Rural  England,  at  least 
what  we  have  seen  of  it.  is  highly  cultivated 
and  very  beautiful.    The  country  traversed  h\ 
the  Great  Western  trains,  from  Liverpool  to 
London,  is  one  vast  park— great  grassy  plains 
on  either  hand,  with  here  a  river,  and  there  oc- 
casionally a  mountain,  and  every^vhere  rows 
of  trim  hedges  and  the  majestic  oaks  of  Old 
England.     We  pass  through  smoky  Birming- 
ham, and  from  the  railway  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  twin  towers  of  Christ's  Church.  Oxford, 


1 


86        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


\l    '  -i! 


both  places  fraught  with  remindc-s  of  the  illus- 
trious Cardinal  Newman. 

In  London,  we  stay  for  tl  e  j:;,cater  pi.c  of 
three  days.    Our  hotel  is  har  !  I  \  Westm  nster 
Abbey.    We  visit  the  famous  abbey  moie  than 
once,  and  each  time  with  mingled  feelings  of 
admiration  and  sadness— admiration  for  the 
noble  temple  itself,  and  sadness  for  the  change 
that  has  come  over  it.  and  the  uses  to  which  it 
IS  put.    The  hour  is  half-past  ten  in  the  morn- 
mg  and  the  Canons  of  Westminster  are  chant- 
ing their  office.     Decorous  and  sweet  is  the 
music  of  their  voices,  but  it  grates  upon  the  ear 
as  one  thinks  of  those  old  monks  of  St.  Bene- 
dict, who  so  often  here  offered  the  Holv  Sacri- 
fice, and  made  the  vast  edifice  resound  with  far 
other  and  more  solemn  music  in  the  centuries 
long  gone  by.     Here  rest  the  sainted  bones  of 
Edward    the    Confessor,    in    the    magnificent 
shnne  prepared  for  them  by  the  founder  of  the 
abbey.   Henry  HI,   in  the  thirteenth  century 
Yonder  is  the  tomb  of  the  ruthless  Cromwell 
and  a  few  steps  beyond  it,  Charles  Darwin,' 
naturalist  an^.  agnostic,  lies  in  death.     Over 
against  the  monument  of  the  martyred  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  rises  that  of  her  roval  cousin 
and  murderess,  Elizabeth.    The  place  is  full  of 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        27 

these  painful  contrasts,  though  fragrant  still 
with  memories  of  its  glorious  past— a  past 
which,  however,  bid,,  fair  to  renew  itself,  at 
least  in  u  measure,  for  England  and  her  peo- 
ple.   Is  it  not  a  token  of  this  "  second  spring  • 
that  the  Faith  which  built  Westminster  Abbey, 
and   which  people   once   fondly  thought   \vas 
dead  and  buried  in  England,  past  a!!  hope  of 
resurrection,  is  now  building  an  even  more  spa- 
cious temple  to  the  Most  High,  not  many  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  historic  abbey,  the  new 
Catholic  cathedral  of  Westminster. 

Back  of  what  was  once  the  high  altar  of  the 
old  abbey  is  the  Coronation  Chair,  with,  be- 
neath it,  the  historic  Stone  of  Scone,  on  which 
the  Scottish  Kings  used  to  be  crowned  for  long 
ages  before  the  days  of  Bruce.    Now  the  mon- 
archs  of  England  sit  in  the  chair  on  the  day  of 
their  coronation.     Queen   Victoria  sat   in   it 
twice,  once  when  the  diadem  of  the  greatest 
empire  of  the  earth  was  placed  on  her  girUsh 
brow-she  was  still  in  her  teens-and  a  seco  .d 
time,  sixty  years  after,  on  the  occasion  of  her 
Diamond  Jubilee.     One  other,  more  vouthful 
but    of   low   degree,    sat    in    the    royal    chair 
since-aye,    and    slept    in    it    too.'  so    our 
guide  tells  us.     A  boy  from  the  neighbouring 


>l    i 


I 


«8       THE  DIARY  O^'  A  PILGRIM 

schools  was  dared  by  his  mates  to  spend  a  night 
alone  with  the  bones  of  the  mighty  dead,  and 
the  ghosts  of  the  Royal  Chapel.     He  did  so, 
slept  in  the  Coronation  Chair,  and  boylike  cut 
his  name  and  the  record  of  his  nocturnal  ex- 
ploit in  the  wood  on  which  Royalty  has  been 
enthroned  since  the  days  of  the  First  Edward. 
Many  are  the  sights  of  London.     But  we 
pilgrims  are  not  sightseers,  though  of  course 
we  do  not  travel  with  our  eyes  closed.     Dur- 
ing the  two  or  three  days  that  v  e  were  in  Lon- 
don, several  places  of  historic  interest  were 
visited,  among  others  the  famous  Tower.    As 
for  myself,  I  went  not  much  about,  having 
spent  in  all  six  days  in  London  on  the  two  for- 
mer occasions  that  I  was  in  the  city.    I  paid  a 
visit  to  an  old  classmate  of      v    'n  the  Propa- 
ganda, who  is  new  Canon     ,      ,a,  rector  of 
St.  James's,  in  Spanish  Place.     From  him  I 
learned  that  there  are  altogether  about  one 
hundred  Catholic  churches  in  London,  most  of 
them  somewhat  small  of  size,  and  that  they  ar- 
so  situated  that  the  Holy  Sacrifice  o.  the  Mass 
is  oflFered  up  every  Sunday  within  ten  minutes' 
walk  of  any  Catholic  home  in  the  va.st  city.    On 
the  Feast  of  Corpus  Christi  I  assisted  at  the 
Solemn   High   Mass   and   Procession   of   the 


■I 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        «9 

Blessed  Sacrament  in  the  Brompton  Oratory 
The  church  of  the  Oratory  is  easily  the  finest 
Catholic  church  in  London.     It  is  modelled  on 
the  great  church  of  St.  Philip,  in  Rome,  and 
IS  distinctly  Roman  in  every  detail.    Here  New- 
man preached  those  thrilling  sermons  which 
drew  Thackeray  away  from  his  novel  writing 
and  Macaulay  from  some  favourite  haunt  in 
the  literary  circles  of  the  city.     The  echoes  of 
that  wondrous  voice  seem  still  to  linger  in  the 
place.      Newman's    figure    in    white    marble 
larger  than  life,  fronting  the  street  that  runs  by 
the  Oratory,  arrests  the  steps  of  many  a  passer- 
by. 

Between  England  and  France,  the  distance  is 
not  great,  if  you  reckon  it  in  miles,  but  it  is 
leagues  and  leagues  if  you  measure  it  by  dif- 
ferences of  race  and  national  characteristics 
The  English  Channel,  with  its  swift  tide  and 
fretful  sea,  severs  two  entirely  different  peo- 
ples.   We  cross  from  Folkestone  to  Boulogne- 
sur-Mer.      Boulogne    is    a    quaint    old-world 
town,  and  a  favourite  resort  of  tourists     We 
make  but  a  short  stay,  and  push  on  to  Paris. 
Our  way  lies  through  an  undulating  country 
well-wooded  and  well-watered,  with  here  and 
there  a  great  stretch  of  pasture-land,  where 


I 


i   :!!i 


SO 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


flocks  of  sheep  are  grazing  and  shepherds  with 
their  dogs  are  keeping  watch.  This  part  of 
France  does  not  appear  to  be  as  highly  culti- 
vated as  are  the  parts  of  England  that  we 
have  seen ;  but  the  scenery  is  more  diversified. 
By  ten  o'clock  at  night  the  electric  light  on  the 
summit  of  the  Eiffel  Tower  is  visible  afar, 
and  we  know  that  we  are  nearing  Paris. 

We  arrived  in  Paris  last  Friday  night.    We 
leave  it  next  Wednesday  morning.    What  shall 
I  say  of  the  City  on  the  Seine,  the  gay  and  bril- 
liant capital  of  I'rance?    I  will  say  frankly  that 
I  don't  like  it — that  I  would  rather  live  in  Lon- 
don with  its  dullness  and  fog,  than  live  in  Paris 
with  its  gaiety  and  sunshine.     Why.^     Well, 
perhaps  because  I  am  dull  myself,  at  least  in 
the  sense  of  not  being  gay — certainly  not  be- 
cause I  love  the  fog,  for  I  do  dearly  love  the 
blue  sky  and  the  light  of  the  blessed  sun.    Per- 
haps, again,  it  is  because  I  don't  understand  the 
I'>ench  tongue  or  French  ways  as  I  understand 
the  English  tongue  and  English  ways.     But 
most  of  all,  I  think,  what  I  dislike  about  Paris 
is  its  godlessness.     The  evidences  of  it  are  on 
every  hand.     The  Londoner  has  at  least  the 
good  sense  to  hide  his  irreligion,  if  he  is  irre- 
ligious.    At  any  rate,  he  does  not  wear  the 


I 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        31 

badge  of  his  irreligion  in  the  streets.  The 
Parisian,  who  is  irreligious,  parades  his  irre- 
ligion and  seems  to  glory  in  his  shame.  I  have 
seen  less  of  London  than  of  Paris— too  little 
of  either,  indeed,  to  enable  me  to  form  a  just 
idea  of  their  condition.  But  certainly  the  lat- 
ter city  seems  to  be  the  more  godless  of  the 
two. 

Religion  there  is  in  Pari^,  and  piety,  too, 
much  more  of  it,  I  have  no  doubt  at  all,  than 
there  is  in  the  city  on  the  Thames.    But  it  hides 
itself  in  church  and  home;  the  stranger  in  the 
streets  sees  little  of  it.    Take  the  matter  of  Sun- 
day observance.    Public  opinion  and  the  law  in 
London    make   people    respect,    at   least    out- 
wardly, the  Lord's  Day;  public  opinion  and  the 
law  in  Paris  make  people  do  t^2  very  opposite, 
at  least  as  far  as  the  force  of  custom  and  ex- 
ample and   the  spur  of  business  rivalry  can 
bring  this  effect  about.    Last  Sunday  in  Paris 
almost  all  the  shops  were  open,  and  people  went 
about  their  work  as  on  an  ordinary  week  day. 
Paris  does  not  keep  the  Sunday,  though  many 
Parisians  doubtless  do.     Is  there  no  warrant 
for  the  inference  that  Paris  has  ceased  to  be 
Christian  ? 
This  is  a  land  of  contrasts,  and  Paris  is  em- 


S2 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


'  ill 


li 

i    i 

I  A 


phatically  a  city  of  contrasts.  Piety  and  god- 
lessness,  virtue  and  vice,  are  here  more  sharply 
contrasted  than  in  any  other  city  on  earth.  "If 
the  devil  reigns  in  Paris,  Cjd  is.  perhaps,  better 
served  there  than  anywhere  else;  good  and 
evil  alike  find  their  supreme  expression;  'tis 
Babylon  and  Jerusalem  both." 

In  the  grand  churches  dwells  the  deepest 
piety ;  godlessness  is  rampant  without.    We  are 
in  Notre  Dame  Sunday,  during  the  Procession 
of  the  Blessed  Sacrament.     What  a  splendid 
spectacle!     The  music  how  heavenly!     Boys 
with  angel  voices  make  the  stately  edifice  ring 
with    the   grand    old    chant   of   the    Church. 
Troops  of  boys  and  girls,  the  boys  with  lighted 
torches  in  their  hands,  the  girls  clothed  in  spot- 
less white  and  bearing  great  bunches  of  roses 
which  shed  their  fragrance  far.  march  in  the 
long  procession.     At  the  end,  the  Eucharistic 
Lord,   from  His  throne  over  the  high  altar, 
blesses  the  assembled  multitude.     It  is  all  so 
solemn  and  so  soulstirring.    We  pass  out  from 
the  church,  deeply  moved.    The  street  is  almost 
blocked  with  worldly  traflfic.  and  men— two 
soldiers  and  two  civilians— are  playing  cards 
under  the  very  shadow  of  Notre  Dame. 

Sunday  morning,  the  pilgrims  went  in  a  body 


1 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        33 

to  Montmartre-the  priests  to  say  Mass.  the 
^y  pilgrims  to  hear  Mass  and  receive  Holy 
Communion.     The  basilica  which  the  piety  of 
Catholic   France   has   erected   to    the   Sacred 
Heart  on  Montmirtre  is  truly  a  splendid  struc- 
ture.    Built  on  a  lofty  eminence,  it  dominates 
the  cty  which  seems  to  lie  quite  at  one's  feet 
Five  thousand  boys   from  the  seminaries  of 
France  received  Holy  Cor  imunion  at  Mont- 
martre  that  morning.     As  one  watched  tier 
after  tier  of  them  at  the  high  altar  eat  of  the 
Bread  of  Life,  with  every  mark  of  pietv  and 
devotion,  one  felt  that  there  was  hope  for  the 
future  of  the  Church  in  France.    And  yet  at 
least  to  human  seeming,  how  gloomy  is  the 
outlook!    One  of  the  lay  pilgrims,  a  very  de- 
vout  French-Canadian,  told  me  after  we  left 
Montmartre  that  morning  of  a  talk  he  had  with 
a  Parisian  matron  the  day  before.     She  had 
^|vo  children-the  regulation  number,   for  in 
i' ranee,  as  statistics  show,  the  deaths  all  but  ex- 
ceed  the  births.     She  sent  them  to  Mass.  she 
said,  though  she  did  not  go  herself,  remarking 
that  no  harm  would  come  of  their  going     She 
sent  them  to  the  godless  State  school,  because 
they  would  not  get  on  so  well  in  the  world 
she  thought,   if  they  went  to  the  Christian 


■m 


Ju^ 


i  n 


i  ■ 


I  m 


84        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

Brothers'  school.  There  is  reason  to  fear  that 
many  of  the  mothers  of  France  are  to-day  like 
t'lis  Parisian  dame— solicitous  about  the  things 
of  this  world,  and  neither  knowing  nor  caring 
for  the  things  that  are  above. 

At  dinner,  in  the  restaurant  at  Boulogne  on 
Friday,  only  meat  was  served.    We  asked  for 
fish,  but  could  get  none.    At  lunch,  in  our  own 
hotel  here  at  Paris  the  same  evening,  again  no 
fish.    True,  the  railway  restaurant  at  Boulogne 
and  the  hotel  at  Paris  cater  to  the  travelling 
public.    Rut    do    not    the    French   themselves 
travel?    And  if,  in  travelling,  they  eai  fish  on 
Friday,    will   not  fish   be   forthcoming  when 
asked  for?     I  have  said  that  Paris  does  not 
keep  the  Sunday— at  least  the  Sunday  rest ;  I 
fear  that  France  does  not  keep  Friday,  or  keeps 
it  but  very  indiflferently.     I  speak  as  one  less 
wise  and  under  correction.     ..iit  putting  this 
and  that  together,  I  cannot  buL  conclude  that 
there  is  a  dreadful  decay  of  faith  in  France.    It 
does  not  seem  possible  that  the  France  of  the 
Catholic  Missions,  the  France  of  our  Lady  of 
Lourdes.  will  be  lost  to  the  Church.    But  if  she 
is  to  be  saved  to  God  and  Church,  it  will  be  so 
as    by    fire.      Another   chastisement,    cutting 
deeper  into  the  nation's  life  than  that  of  1870, 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        35 

must  first  bring  to  her  knees,  and  to  the  very 
dust  m  penance,  the  Eldest  Daughter  of  the 
Church. 

I  am  at  the  end  of  my  chapter,  and  not  a 
word  about  the  Exposition.     I   have  visited 
he  grounds  but  once,  and  then  viewed  them 
from  the  Eiffel  Tower,  midway  to  the  top 
The  buddmgs.  which  stand  on  both  banks  of 
the  Seme    are  certainly  very  grand.     Thev 
seem  to  be  more  spac:.,us.  upon  the  whole, 
than  were  those  of  the  Chicago  E.xposition. 
But   they   do   not   stand    by   themselves   and 
apart,  as  was  the  case  in  Chicago;  you  do  not 

the  s,ght  so  beaufful  as  was  that  of  the  White 
City  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Michigan.  The 
v'cw  to  be  had  from  the  Ferris  Wheel  at 
Chicago  was.  I  think,  finer  than  that  which 
you   get   to-day    from   the    Eiffel    Tower   at 

^'oiC^^:T  ^'  ^-'r '  ^°  '^ 

,  t,  .     r    ,      ^-^Position   from  without.     But 
what  of  the  Paris  Fair  from  within?     That 
you  must  learn,  if  at  all.  from  some  one  else 
I  paid  but  a  flying  visit  to  one  of  the  build- 

have"nn''T  "  ""'''''  "'  ^"'"^^  °^  -h>^h 
I  have  now  but  a  very  confused  notion.     I 

have  no  faculty  for  seeing  things,  as  your  en- 


f: 


36 


THK  DIARV  or  A  PILGRIM 


thusiastic  sightseer  has.  and  can  find  no  s..rt  of 
pleasure  m  the  pr.K'ess.     To  me  it   is  all  a 
weanness  of  spirit-and  a  weariness  of  the 
flesh  mto  the  bargain.     Xon  satiatur  oculus 
v.dendo.  says  the  Wise  Man-the  eye  is  not 
sated  w,th  seeing.     To  which  one  ,nay  ad<l 
'n  view  of  the  special  circumstances  of  the 
case,  sed  fatigatur  corpus  ambulandcK-but  the 
body  is  fatigued  with  walking. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM       87 


Geneva,  Sunday,  June  24.   1900. 

[E  left  Paris  last  Wednesday  morning, 
and  arrived  at  Paray  le  Monial  a 
little   before    six   in    the   afternoon. 
All  day  we  traversed  a  land  of  great  fertility, 
nch  ,n  grain  fields,   for  the  most  part  open 
and   level,    m  places   picturesque.      The   sea- 
son here  is  at  least  six  weeks  earlier  than  at 
home.     Already   the   grain    is   ripe   or    fast 
npenmg  in  the  fields,  and  the  people  are  busily 
at  work  making  their  hay  and  gathering  in 
the  harvei 

Paray  le  Monial  is  situated  on  the  banks  of 
a  small  stream,  in  the  Department  of  Loire-et- 
Saone,  in  the  very  heart  of  France.     It  is  a 
town   of    not   more   than   4,000   inhabitants, 
quiet  with  the  quietude  of  all  country  places, 
quaint  with  the  quaintness  of  almost  all  of 
the  old-world  towns.     No  smoke  of  factories 
darkens  its  sky,  no  sound  of  worldly  traffic  is 
heard  in  its  streets.     You  hear  instead  the 
song  of  birds  in  the  morning,  the  pealing  of 
bells,  and  all  day  long  the  pilgrim's  hymn.    A 


If, 

p. 


M       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

deep  peace,  a  sweet  and  restful  tranquility, 
broods  on  the  place  which  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
the  Lord  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  has  chosen  for 
His  sanctuary. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Sacral  Heart,  attached 
to  the  Convent  of  the  Visitation,  must  seem 
commonplace  enough  to  the  ordinary  traveller. 
It  is  smaU  of  size.  and.  as  seen  from  without, 
very  plain,  very  unpretentious.     Witliin  is  a 
wealth  of  votive  ofTerinffs   from  every  land. 
Consecrated  banners,  wrought  in  silk  and  gold 
and   richly  embroidered,   are   ranged  around 
the  walls,  and  the  light  of  manv  lamps  falls 
upon  the  high  altar  where  Our  blessed  Lord 
revealed  His  heart  to  the  lowly  X'isitandine 
and  whence  He  still  dispenses  His  grace. 

All  day  Thursday  and   far  into  the  night 
pdgrims  keep  pouring  in  from  all  parts.      \ll 
night  long  the  Chapel  is  open,  and  the  stream 
of  mcoming  and  outgoing  pilgrims  is  as  the 
flow  and  ebb  of  a  mighty  sea.    At  two  in  the 
mornmg  of  Friday.  Feast  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
the  Masses  begin.    They  continue  at  all  of  the 
eight  altars  until  ten.  at  most  of  them  until 
twelve,   yet   not   one-third   of  the  priests   in 
Paray  le  Monial  with  the  great  International 
Pilgrimage   can   say    Mass   this   day   in   the 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM       S9 

sanctuary  of  the  Sacred  Heart.  They  must 
needs  go  elsewhere,  to  the  basilica,  to  other 
churches  or  chapels. 

At  ten  o'clock  Solemn  High  Ma.ss  is  cele- 
brated ,n  the  basilica,  the  Vicar-Gencral  of 
Pans   f)cinp   the   celebrant.      The    Hisho,,   of 
Autun.  Cardinal  Perraud.  occupies  the  throne 
on  the  gospel  side,  for  Paray  le  Monial  is  in 
h.s  jurisdiction.     In  the  .sanctuary  are  several 
prelate-s  and  dignitaries,  among  others  Arch- 
bishop Corrigan  of  \ew  York,  and  as  manv 
pnests  as  can  find  standing  room.    The  church 
•s  hteraly  packed   with   pilgrims,   vet   manv 
housands  have  been  unable  to  gain' entrance 
In  the  nave,  directly  in  front  of  the  main  altar 
are  ranged  the  banners  of  the  various  pilgrim- 
ages, some  thirty  or  forty  in  all_I  cannot  give 
the  exact   number.      Hither   they  have   been 
borne  by  pilgrim  ban.Is  from  all  charters  of 
the  globe,    from   many  countries  u{  Europe 
from  As,a   from  Africa,  from  .America.  North 
Wd  South,  and  from  the  i.slands  of  the  far 
Pacific  Ocean.     Conspicuous  among  them   is 
our  own  Canadian  banner,  with  its  almost  Hfe- 
s.ze  image  of  Our  Lord  revealing  His  Sacred 
Heart  in  the  centre,  and  ranged  along  the  l>or. 
ders  the  heroic   founders  of  the  Church   in 


Ji 


40       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


■illi     Ml  i 


Canada,  Laval,  Champlain,  Maisonneuve.  Bre- 
boeuf,  Mary  of  the  Incarnation,  Marguerite 
Bourgeois,  and  the  foundress  of  the  Ursulines 
of  Quebec.     A  little  beyond  is  unfurled  an- 
other American  banner,  which  proudly  claims 
a  place  here  to-day  by  a  right  peculiarly  its 
own.     It  is  the  banner  of  Catholic  Ecuador 
the  Republic  of  the  Sacred  Heart.     Inscribed 
on   it,    in   letters   of  gold,    which   first   were 
written  in  blood,  are  the  words  of  the  martyred 
President,  Garcia  Moreno,  as  he  fell  by  the 
hand  of  the  assassin.  Iddios  ne  meure— God 
dies  not.     At  the  Credo  all  are  on  their  feet, 
and  the  priests  in  the  sanctuary  and  in  all  parts 
of  the  basilica  pilgrim  voices  from  •  lany  lands 
smg  in  unison  the  time-honourea  Confession 
of  the  Faith  "  once  delivered  to  the  saints  "— 
in  the  chant  of  the  Church  and  in  the  language 
of    the   Church,    the   Creed    of   the    Church 
Catholic  and  Apostolic.     It  is  a  most  impres- 
sive and  most  solemn  scene,  one  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

Thursday  night  the  pilgrims  made  the  Way 
of  the  Cross  by  torchlight  in  the  great  garden 
adjoining  the  basilica.  The  garden  itself  was 
brilliant  with  lights,  and  at  each  station  the 
arch-priest  attached  to  the  basilica  delivered  a 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        41 

discourse    in   French,    of   some   five   or   ten 
minutes.    In  the  intervals  between  stations  the 
vast  multitude  joined  in  singing  the  hymn  of 
Catholic    France,    with    its   pleading   refrain, 
Sauvez,  Sauvez  la  France.    On  the  afternoon 
of  Friday  the  basilica  was  again  packed  to 
hear  the  sermon  of  Father  Couper,  one  of  tlie 
first  preachers  of  France,  and  to  assist  at  the 
International  Act  of  Consecration  to  the  Sa- 
cred Heart.     It  was  indeed  a  red-letter  day 
in  the  City  of  the  Sacred  Heart.    From  earliest 
dawn  the  streets  were  lined  with  pilgrims  in 
picturesque  costumes  and  gay  with  banners, 
the  Papal  colours  and  the  banner  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  ever  holding  the  place  of  honour.     As 
the  sun  went  down  and  darkness  fell  upon  the 
scene,  the  celebration  was  brought  to  a  close 
by  a  great  torchlight  procession  through  the 
streets. 

That  night,  in  the  hotel  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
hard  by  the  Chapel  of  the  Visitation,  the  Cana- 
dian pilgr-  -s  were  introduced  to  General 
Charette,  sometime  leader  of  the  Pontifical 
Zouaves,  and  Admiral  Cuverville.  of  the 
French  Navy.  Both  made  short  speeches 
brimful  of  Gallic  fire,  and  of  loyalty  to  the 
Sacred  Heart  and  to  Holy  Mother  Church.    O 


■lj 


^ 


M 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


that  France  had  many  such  high-souled,  God- 
fearing men  among  her  leaders  and  coun- 
cillors ! 

There  were  many  pilgrimages  at  Paray  le 
Monial,  and  many  people  represented  there. 
But  it  is  quite  safe  to  say  that  the  pilgrimage 
which  represented  the  Catholics  of  Canada  cut 
the  greatest  figure  and  claimed  the  greatest 
share  of  attention.     This  it  owed  not  to  its 
numbers;  numerically  it  was  one  of  the  small- 
est.   Nor  was  it  the  rank  or  dignity  of  its  mem- 
bers that  won  it  a  foremost  place :  it  was  made 
up  of  plain  priests  and  humble  lay  people, 
many  of  them  from  the  remote  rural  districts 
of  the  Province  of  Quebec.    But  the  Catholics 
of  France  saw  in  the  vast  majority  of  the  pil- 
grim band  that  gathered  round  the  Canadian 
banner  the  descendants  of  the  men  and  wo- 
men who  went  forth  from  France  three  cen- 
turies ago  to  found  a  new  France  on  the  banks 
of  the  St.  Lawrence.    And  as  they  heard  tliem 
sing  their  hymns  in  French  to  airs  that  have 
been  familiar  to  generations  of  pious  French- 
men, and  saw  how  they  still  hold  fast,  with 
unswerving  fidelity,  the  Faith  of  their  Fathers, 
the  Faith  of  Old  France,  their  hearts  went  out 
to  them  as  they  went  out  to  the  members  of  no 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        48 

other  pilgrimage  there.    Most  of  all  was  this 
made    manifest    yesterday    morning    as    we 
gathered  in  the  sanctuary  at  Paray  le  Monial 
to  sing  for  the  last  time  before  leaving  the 
hymn  of  the  Canadian  pilgrims.     Mr.  Rivet, 
organizer  of  the  pilgrimage,  who  has  a  rich' 
strong  and  most  musical  voice,  sang  the  solos, 
and  all  joined  in  the  chorus.    The  emotion  of 
many  present  found  vent  in  tears,  and  copies 
of  the  hymn  were  afterwards  eagerly  sought 
for.     This  particular  hymn,  one  of  two,  was 
composed  while  we  were  in  London,   by  a 
French  Canadian  Sister  who  has  entered  a 
convent  there.    I  subjoin  a  copy  of  it,  with  an 
English  translation,  which  one  who  looks  at  it 
without  reading  might  mistake  for  verse,  but 
which  is  really  only  a  rude   rendering  into 
English,  line  for  line  and  almost  word   for 
word,  of  the  original  : 

Cantique  des  Pelerins  Canadiens 
a  Paray  le  Monial. 


^rl- 


44       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


(AIR:  PITIE,  MON  DIEU.) 


I. 


Des  bords  lointains  de  la  Nouvelle  France, 
Du  Canada,  Maitre,  nous  accourons; 
O  Roi  des  rois,  a  Vous  notre  allegeance. 
A  votre  Coeur,  nous  nous  consacrons. 

Coeur  adorable, 

Foyer  d'amour, 

Le  pays  de  I'erable 

Est  a  Vous  sans  retour. 


II. 


Peuples,  debout!  le  Maitre  nous  appelle, 
Rallions-nous  autour  du  Sacre-Coeur ;' 
II  faut  au  monds  une  seve  nouvelle: 
Aliens  tous  boire  aux  sources  du  Sauveur. 

Coeur  adorable. 

Nous  voici  tous, 

Nous  venons,  Coeur  aimable, 

Chercher  la  vie  en  vous. 


4 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 
III. 


45 


Nos  maux  sont  grands,   nous  sommes  bien 
coupables, 

Mais   Vous.   mon   Dieu.    vous   etes   toujours 
bon; 

Vous  avez  fait  les  peuples  guerissables, 
11  leur  suffit  de  Vous  crier:     Pardon! 

Coeur  adorable, 

Qui  nous  aimez, 

A  la  terre  coupable, 

Coeur  divin,  pardonnez. 


IV. 

Coeur  de  Jesus,   que  tous  les   coeurs   soient 

votres. 
Au  Cher  pays,  en  la  France,  en  tous  lieux! 
Par  votre  amour,  unis  les  uns  aux  autres 
Nous  serons  forts  et  nous  serons  heureiix. 

Nous  voulons  etre 

A  Vous,  Jesus ; 
Prenez  nos  coeurs,  bon  Maitre, 
Et  ne  les  rendez  plus. 


Daignez  benir  notre  chere  Patrie, 

Tous  nos  foyers,  nos  Pretres,  no's  Pasteurs; 


it 


■i'! 


46       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

Et  que  tou jours,  de  Jesus,  de  Marie, 
Les  Canadiens  soient  loyaux  serviteursi 

Coeur  adorable, 

Gardez  toujours 
Au  pays  de  I'erable 
La  foi  des  anciens  jours. 

Hymn  of  the  French-Canadian 
Pilgrims  at  Paray  le  Monial. 

From  the  shores  of  far  New  France, 

From  Canada,  Lord,  we  come; 

O  King  of  Kings,  we  swear  fealty  to  Thee, 

And  to  Thy  Sacred  Heart  we  consecrate  our- 
selves. 

Adorable  Heart, 
Fountain  of  Love, 
The  Land  of  the  Maple 
Is  Thine  forevermore. 


n. 


Hark,  ye  peoples !  the  Master  calls  us. 
Let  us  rallly  round  His  Sacred  Heart, 
The  world  needs  the  sap  of  a  new  life; 
Let  us  all  go  and  drink  at  the  fountains  of  the 
Saviour. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

Adorable  Heart, 
Behold  us  all  here, 
We  come,  O  loving  Heart, 
To  find  life  in  Thee. 


47 


III. 

Great  are  our  sins,  our  souls  are  stained  with 
guilt. 

But  Thou,  my  God,  Thou  art  ever  merciful, 
In  Thee  is  healing  for  the  Nations; 
Enough  that  they  cry  out :    Forgive! 

Adorable  Heart 

That  lovest  us ; 

Pardon,  Heart  Divine, 

The  guilt-stained  world. 

IV. 

Heart  of  Jesus,  may  all  hearts  be  Thme 
In  our  own  dear  country,  in  France,  in  every 
land ! 

Bound  together  by  the  bonds  of  Thy  love 
We  shall  find  strength  and  happiness. 

Thine,  O  Jesus, 

We  would  be; 

Take  our  hearts,  dear  Lord, 

And  make  them  Thine  for  ever. 


48       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

V. 

Deign  to  bless  our  dear  Country, 
Our  Homes,  oui  Priests,  our  Bishops; 
And  may  Canadians  ever  be 
Faithful  Servants  of  Jesus  and  Mary! 

Adorabb  Heart, 

Always  conserve 

To  the  Land  of  the  Maple 

The  Faith  of  our  Fathers! 


We  reached  Geneva  last  night  and  are  leav- 
ing to-morrow  morning  for  Berne.  Geneva 
is  a  beautiful  city,  situated  at  the  head  of  the 
lake  of  the  same  name.  The  atmosphere  is 
wonderfully  clear  here  to-day  and  the   sun 

shines  out  of  a  cloudless  sky.     Afar  oflF 

though  it  seems  not  far,  it  must  be  some  score 
of  miles  away— the  snowy  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc  is  distinctly  visible.  All  around  are 
Alpine  peaks.  The  city  is  full  of  historic  in- 
terest. Here  Calvin  preached  his  gloomy 
creed  and  ruled  with  an  iron  rod.  Here,  too, 
the  very  opposite  of  Calvin  i  i  every  way,  that 
sweetest  and  most  lovable  of  Saints,  Francis 
of  Sales,  wielded  episcopal  authority  over  a 


I 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        49 

devoted  flock  His  spirit  seems  to  breathe  in 
the  peace  and  calm  of  this  June  day.  One 
can  even  fancy  that  one  hears  the  accents  of 
h.s  gentle  vo.ce  calling  his  sheep  away  from 
earthly  pastures  to  heavenly  ones,  guiding 
hem  ever  onward  to  the  Great  Shepherd  of 
tl^  sheep.  ,n  the  fold  upon  the  everlasting 


I ' 


tfi 


50       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


Lucerne,  Wednesday.  June  27. 

I  HE  parts  of  Switzerland  that  are  ca- 
pable of  cultivation  seem  to  be  even 
more  fertile  than  the  parts  of  France 
that  we  have  passed  through.  Both  the  hay 
and  grain  crops  are  heavier,  at  least  this  year, 
and  the  vine  thrives  marvellously  on  the  hill- 
sides of  this  beautiful  and  romantic  land.  For 
beautiful  it  is  and  romantic,  this  land  of  bright- 
blue  skies,  and  snow-capped  mountains,  and 
leaping  cataracts,  and  sylvan  glades,  and  smil- 
ing valleys. 

We  spent  Sunday  at  Geneva,  and  stayed  two 
or  three  hours  at  Berne  Monday  on  ou.  way 
to  Interlaken.  Berne  is  the  national  capital. 
Its  most  notable  buildings  are  the  Federal 
House  of  Parliament  and  the  Lutheran  Ca- 
thedral. Tl  e  latter  dates  from  the  beginning 
of  the  i.qt'n  century,  and  to  this  day  bears  about 
it  tokens  of  the  Faith  that*  first  set  it  up. 
Berne  is  the  German  word  for  "  bear."  The 
city  takes  its  name  "  de  bellua  caesa,"  as  an 
old  monument  bears  witness,  from  a  bear  hav- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        51 

ing  been  slain  on   the  site  ^.herc  It  stands, 
rhence  the  bear  is  the  emblem  and  heraldic 
decoration  c.f  the  Swiss  capital.     You  can't 
turn  m  any  direction  v.ithont  runninjr  across 
the  figure  of  a  bear.    The  poor  beast  is  drawn 
«n  every  conceivable  shape  and  tortured  into 
every  conceivable  attitude.     One  is  reminded 
of  the  fable  of  the  Lion  and  the  Man.  as  told 
by  Newman.    There  are  bears  couchant.  bears 
passant,  and  bears  regardant.    There  are  old 
bears  and  young  boars,  big  l,ears  and  little 
bears   bears  climbing  trees,  bears  standing  on 
^e,r  hmd  legs,  bears  hugging  each  other,  and 
bears  makmg  faces  at  each  other.     And  to 
crown  all.  the  city  maintains  four  huge  live 
bears  and  several  young  ones  in  an  enclosure 
about  twelve  feet  below  the  level  of  the  ground 
They  are  shown  to  every  visitor  who  crosses 
the  stone  br.dge  that  spans  the  Aar  river,  on 
the  banks  of  which  Berne  stands 

Interlaken.  as  the  name  implies,  is  situated 
between  two  lakes.  It  is  an  ideal  summer  re- 
sort  a  very  paradise  of  tourists.  It  is  hemmed 
m  by  mountams  on  every  side.  On  the  east. 
Jungfrau  hfts  her  snowy  summit  to  the  skies 
Jungfrau  (pronounced  yungfrau)  is  German 
for  virgm.     And   a   tall   virgin   she   is.   this 


t  ■  1 ., 


«t       THE  DIAHY  OF  A  PILGHIM 

Maiden  of  the  Snows,  ever  holding  her  head 
erect  some  13,000  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  She  always  wears  her  white  mantle,  and 
for  apron  a  great  glacier.  On  the  evening  of 
our  arrival  she  had  on  a  cap  of  cloud,  and 
some  time  during  the  night  further  shrouded 
herself  in  a  veil  of  mist.  Nor  would  she  lift  it 
as  we  went  away,  eager  though  we  were  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  morning  face. 

Between  Interlaken  and  Lucerne  the  scenery 
IS  uninterruptedly  grand.    Mountain,  lake,  and 
Alpme  river  quickly  succeed  one  another,  hut 
without  sameness.    The  most  remarkable  feat- 
ure of  this  route  is  the  over-mountain  railway. 
The  train  climbs  an  Alpine  hill  from  i.joo  to 
1.500    feet    in    height,    and    makes    its    way 
down    on    the   other   side.      Our    train    was 
divided   into  three   sections,  each   section  of 
which  was  pulled  by  a  powerful  locomotive. 
The  M'hcels  revolve  on  cogs  set  in  the  rails. 
At  one  time  the  train  is  on  the  verv  edge  of  a 
precipice,  with  a  sheer  descent  of  several  hun- 
dred   feet;   at   another,   an   overhanging  clifT 
threatens  to  fall  down  on  top  of  it  and  smash 
It  mto  atoms.    Now  it  seems  to  be  on  the  verge 
of  dropping  into  a  lake  hundreds  of  feet  be- 
low; the  next  moment  the  dense  Alpine  forests 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        59 

hides  even  the  heavens  from  one's  view.    It  i, 
a  thnllmg  experience,  and  one  feels  a  sense  of 
relK  f  once  it  is  fairly  over. 
♦    •     ♦ 


^iia 


.^ 


64        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


';!!  5 


Rome,  July  6th,  1900. 
'T  is  more  than  a  week  since  last  I  put 
pen  to  paper.  We  were  then  at  Lucerne, 
amid  the  eternal  hills.    We  are  now  in 
the  Eternal  City.     Into  this  short  space  much 
has  been  crowded — too  much  even  to  touch  on 
here  or  give  in  barest  outline.     There  is  the 
sublime  scenery  of  the  Alpine  Passes  between 
Lucerne  and  Como,  with  the  passage  through 
the  great  tunnel  at  St.  fothard's.     There  is 
Milan  with  its  marvellous  Duomo.  "  a  dream 
in  marble."  as  some  prose  poet  has  pictured  it. 
There  is  the  vast  plain  of  Lombardy,  stretching 
for  miles  and  miles  from  the  foot  of  the  Alps 
to  the  Mediterranean,  the  garden  of  Italy,  as 
Italy  is  the  garden  of  Europe.    Then  there  is 
Venice,  Queen  of  the  Adriatic,  the  city  of  doges 
and  of  gondolas.     The  doges  are  dead;  we 
visited  the  church  where  monuments  in  marble 
and  in  bronze  enshrine  their  ashes  and  perpetu- 
ate all  that  now  remains  of  their  former  great- 
ness—a fugitive  and  fitful  memory.    The  gon- 
dolas are  still  there,  with  their  graceful,  swan- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        55 

like  shape  and  movement— just  such  as  they 
were  in  the  days  when  the  Republic  of  Venice 
was  mistress  of  the  seas.     There,  again    is 
Padua,  with  its  shrine  of  St.  Anthony,  whose 
mcorrupt  tongue  still  witnesses  to  the  power 
with  which  this  "  trumpet  of  the  Gospel  "  her- 
alded Christ  and  Him  crucified.    There,  too  is 
Loreto,  with  its  Holy  House,  where  the  Word 
was    made    Flesh— a    most    gracious    shrine. 
Lastly,  as  we  hasten  Romeward.  midway  be- 
tween Ancona  and  Rome,  amid  the  Umbrian 
hills,  yet  another  shrine  draws  us  to  itself— 
Assisi.  where  live  the  memories  of  St.  Francis 
and  the  spirit  of  St.   Francis— live,  too,  as 
fresh  and  fragrant  as  are  the  blood-bedewed 
roses  that  bloom  on  thomless  bushes  in  his 
garden,  where  he  fought  the  good  fight  against 
temptation  and  won  for  the  men  of  all  time  the 
Pardon  of  the  Portiuncula. 

Those  of  us  who  spent  Wednesday  in  Assisi 
did  not  reach  Rome  until  a  late  hour  that  night. 
Imagine  our  surprise  and  almost  consternation 
when  we  were  told  that  all  the  pilgrims  were  to 
be  received  in  audience  by  the  Holy  Father 
at  eleven  the  next  (yesterday)  morning.  We 
had  counted  on  being  at  least  a  day  or  two  in 
Rome  before  the  audience  took  place,  and  we 


If'" 


^ 


«6        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

were  not  ready.     We  ran  about  for  two  or 
three  hours  in  the  morning,  buying  medals, 
etc..  to  be  blessed— I  with  no  little  difficulty, 
getting  English  gold  for  the  cheques  containing 
the  Peter  Pence  offering  of  our  diocese,  some 
two  thousand  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs. 
By  eleven  o'clock  we  are  at  the  Vatican,  and 
half    an    hour    afterwards    Pope    Leo    enters 
the  Sala  Clementina,  borne  on  a  chair,  amid 
the  '  evivas  '  of  the  assembled  pilgrims.    There 
are   two   pilgrimages,    the    Brazilian,    ranged 
along  one  side  of  the  great  hall,  and  the  Ca- 
nadian along  the  other.     First  the  Pope  re- 
ceives the  Brazilians,  then  the  Canadians.    He 
is  carried  in  his  chair  right  around  the  hall,  in 
front  of  the  pilgrims  who  line  the  sides.     To 
each  he  gives  his  hand  to  kiss;  to  each  his 
blessing  and  some  gracious  token  of  tender- 
ness—a  word,  a  smile ;  to  all.  at  the  close,  the 
Apostolic  Benediction.     Pope  Leo  is  of  course 
changed  since  I  saw  him  last,  sixteen  years 
ago;  the  white  hair  is  scantier  and  whiter  still, 
the  lines  on  the   face  are  deeper,  the  hands 
are  more  tremulous,  the  voice  has  lost  its  res- 
onance.    But  the  light  of  the  coal  black  eye 
is  not  dimmed,  there  is  more  of  pathos  in  the 
voice,  and  the  whole  face  has  melted  into  ten- 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        57 

derness.  There  has  come  into  it  a  gentler  and 
more  winning  look,  which  one  likens  to  the 
mellowness  of  ripe  fruit  when  it  is  ready  to 
drop  from  the  tree.  This  fruit  is  surely  meet 
to  be  gathered,  one  says  to  oneself,  yet  none 
but  the  Master's  hand  may  pluck  it  from  the 
stem. 

The  scene  in  the  Sala  Clementina,  at  the 
c  ose   of   the   audience,    as    the   aged  Pontiff 
blessed  the  pilgrims.  I  will  not  attempt  to  de- 
scribe^    I  shall  never  forget  it.  and  no  one  who 
was  there  ever  can  forget  it.     When  the  Pope 
raised  himself  on  his  chair  and  stretched  out 
his   hand   to  give   the   Apostolic   Benediction 
there  was  a  stillness  as  of  death  throughout  the 
vast  hall--a  stillness  soon  broken  by  sobs,  for 
tears  filled  the  eyes  of  all  that  were  there,  and 
many  wept  aloud.    The  first  words  were  spoken 
'n  distinct  though  somewhat  low  tones,  but  as 
the  last  words,   in  nomine  Patris  et  Filii  et 
^piritus  Sancti.  were  being  uttered  the  Holy 
lather  himself  broke  down  completelv     The 
voice   grew    husky    with    emotion,    the   eyes 
closed,  and  great  tears  rolled  down  the  aged 
cheeks.     Leo  XIII  felt  that  he  was  blessing 
for  the  last  time  these  faithful  children  of  his 
from  the  two  Americas,  and  we  felt  that  never 


ffl 


58        THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

in  this  life  should  we  look  upon  his  face  again. 
I  must  close  abruptly,  without  as  much  as 
one  word  about  Rome  itself — Rome  to  which 
I  have  come,  not  merely  as  a  pilgrim  from 
afar  to  a  holy  place  of  pilgrimage,  but  as  a  son 
comes  to  his  mother  after  long  years  of  separa- 
tion. For  Rome  is  to  me  the  mother  of  my 
soul. 

*    «    « 


I  If 
I  I 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM       59 


Genoa,  FRroAv,  July  13. 
I E  left  Rome  Tuesday  at  2  p.  m.,  after 
a  stay  of  six  days,  which  was  all  too 
short.     For  one  could  spend  months 
and  months  in  Rome  and  still  not  see  a  tithe  of 
what  is  worth  seeing,  or  even  begin  to  be  weary 
of  a  place  so  rich  in  all  that  sages  have  thought 
and  poets  have  dreamed  of  and  artists  have 
wrought  and  martyrs  have  bled  for  and  saints 
have  loved.    We  leave  Rome  with  regret-  feel- 
mg  as  all  must  feel  in  whom  there  is  a  spark  of 
Divme  Faith,  that  it  is  the  Citv  of  the  So-^!  to 
which,  m  the  words  of  the  poet,  "  the  exile  of 
the  heart  "  must  forever  turn. 

The  run  from  Rome  to  Florence  is  made  in 
five  or  six  hours.  Florence,  the  city  of  flowers. 
IS  built  on  both  banks  of  the  Arno  It  is  a 
beautiful  rity  much  frequented  by  tour- 
ists.  It  n  he  birthplace  of  many  of  Italy's 
greatest  sons,  of  Dante,  of  Michael  Angelo.  of 
Oahleo.  Here  Savonarola  lived  and  preached 
and  wielded  an  influence  more  potent  than  that 
of  any  civil  ruler.    We  saw,  in  one  of  the  pal- 


60 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


aces  of  the  Medici,  the  chapel  where  he  spoke 
his  last  words  to  his  brother  monks,  just  be- 
fore he  was  led  out  to  be  burnt  at  the  stake  in 
the  Piazza  of  the  Signoria.  hard  by.  Here, 
too,  first  saw  the  light  of  day  one  who  was 
the  opposite  of  Savonarola  in  many  ways,  the 
sweet  and  gentle  Philip  Neri.  Rome,  the' city 
of  his  adoption,  of  which  he  became  the  second 
Apostle,  is  still  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  his 
saintly  life. 

From  Florence  we  come  by  rail  to  Pisa, 
and  thence  the  same  day  to  Genoa.     From 
Spezia  to  the  latter  city,  the  railway,  skirting 
the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  is  one  series 
of  tunnels.     In  the  intervals  between  tunnels 
we  catch  glimpses  of  as  beautiful  and  pictur- 
esque scenery  as  one  could  wish  to  gaze  upon— 
a  background  of  hills,  rising  in  many  places  ab- 
ruptly to  a  great  height,  sloping  vineyards, 
groves  of  olive,  clusters  of  fruit  trees,  and.  in 
front,  the  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  clear  as 
crystal  and  mirroring  in  their  depths  the  fleecy 
summer  clouds  that  float  in  the  blue  above. 
Over  all,  like  a  great  dome  over  Nature's  own 
Cathedral,  is  the  sky  of  Italy. 

"Genoa  la  Superba  "—Genoa   the  Superb 
—the  Genoese  call  this  city  by  the  rippling 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM       61 

Mediterranean,  and  well  they  may.    It  is   in- 
deed,  superb.     In  its  marble  palaces  could  be 
entertained  to-day,  in  princely  fashion,  all  the 
princes  of  the  earth.     It  is  the  richest  city  of 
the  peninsula,  the  great  mart  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the  Liverpool  of  Italy.    From  the  har- 
bour, where  float  the  flags  of  all  nations,  the 
city  resembles  a  vast  amphitheatre,  tier  upon 
tier  of  tall  buildings  rising  one  above  another. 
Lven  the  urchins  in  the  street  are  proud  of  this 
queenly  city.     In  the  higher  part  of  the  town 
away  up  among  the  hills,  near  the  marvellous 
Campo  Santo,  a  group  of  them  stood  talking 
rapidly,  and  to  me  unintelligibly,  in  their  own 
Genoese  dialect,  as  we  passed  by.     "  Che  lin- 
giiaggio  parlate  voi  altri  ?  "    I  asked  somewhat 
bluntly.    "  Noi."  says  one  of  the  number,  with 
a  sweep  of  the  hand  whidi  took  in  the  other 
members    of    the   group,   and    then    pointing 
proudly  with  his  finger  to  his  breast.   "  Noi 
siamo  Genovesi— We  are  natives  of  Genoa." 

That  Campo  Santo,  by  the  same  token,  is  one 
of  the  wonders  of  the  world.  Trul-  ho  dead 
of  Genoa  dwell  in  marble  halls,  ad  thi.  city 
of  the  dead  is  a  miracle  in  marble  Every 
monument  is  a  work  of  art.  The  pose  of  that 
hgure.  how  graceful  and  natural !    Those  faces 


Hi 


m       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

in  marble  and  bronze,  how  life-like  are  they! 
The  dead  seem  to  live  in  them  again,  and  to 
look  down  at  you  with  their  solemn  eyes  from 
the  other  world. 


»  i 


IS. 

i 


We  loved  that  hall,  tho'  white  and  cold 
Those  niched  shapes  of  noble  mould 

A  princely  people's  awful  princes, 
The  grave,  severe  Genoese  of  old. 

— Tennyson,  "  The  Daisy." 

Quieti  et  Memoriae — you  meet  it  every- 
where, this  terse  and  beautiful  epigraph.  Re- 
calling the  memory  of  some  dear  departed  one, 
it  breathes  a  prayer  for  that  rest  after  which 
the  human  heart  ever  hungers  here  below — 
that  rest  which  we  look  for  "  where  beyond 
these  voices  there  is  peace." 

For  full  nine  hundred  years,  from  900  to 
1,800,  Genoa  maintained  herself  an  indepen- 
dent Republic.  Already  six  centuries  had 
rolled  over  this  Old  World  Republic  when  the 
boldest  of  her  sailors  embarked  at  Palos  on  his 
voyage  of  discovery.  "  Were  it  not  for  him 
we  might  all  of  iis  to-day  be — Indians,"  is  the 
curious  thought  that  coines  to  one  of  the  pil- 
■^ms  as  he  gazes  on  the  massive  monument. 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        63 

near  the  railway  station,  which  bears  the  Ice- 
end  in  huge  letters : 

A  CHRISOFORO  COLOMBO  LA  PATRIA 

Ah,  those  might-have-beens  of  an  unborn  past! 
It  is  bootless  to  speculate  upon  them. 


t  ■ 


64       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


■  ill! 


Ljurdes,  July  19,  1900. 
jOURDES  is  a  small  town  in  the  dio- 
cese of  Tarbes,  Hautes  Pryenees, 
picturesquely  situated  on  the  right 
hank  of  the  river  Gave."  I  quote  the  words 
from  a  booklet  which  purports  to  be  "  A  Short 
Account  of  the  Apparitions  and  Miracles  at 
Lourdes."  We  arrived  here  from  Toulouse 
about  five  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
day  before  yesterday.  It  had  been  a  very 
hot  day  in  the  cars,  but  all  covered  with  sweat 
and  dust  as  we  were  we  went  straight  in  pro- 
cession to  the  Grotto  of  Our  Lady,  without 
waiting  to  go  to  our  hotel.  There,  on  our 
knees  before  the  statue,  which  smiles  down 
sweetly  upon  us,  as  did  erstwhile  the  Virgin 
Mother  for  whom  it  stands,  upon  the  simple 
peasant  girl  of  the  Pyrenees,  we  recite  the 
Rosary  and  sing  the  Magnificat.  All  about  us 
throngs  are  kneeling  in  prayer,  and  there  are 
signs  of  a  subdued  excitement,  for  just  five 
minutes  before  our  arrival  a  young  girl  who 
had  suffered  severe  injuries  by  a  fall  three 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGBIM       «/, 

y«rs  ago,  and  was  carried  thither  in  her  little 
carnage,  a  few  hours  before,  was  seen  to  rise 

Ifter'the?  """vTu-    ^'"  "'■■"•'^  '-<'>"  "or 
after  the  cure  did  she  report  at  the  Bureau  des 

ronstatations  Medicales, 

The  words  that  I  have  ,|uoted  at  the  head  of 
th.5  page  were  written  twenty-four  vcars  aeo 
by  an  Enghsh  priest  who  vi.si.ed  the  shrfnT 

that  Lourdes  ,s  a  sn.all  town.  The  old  town 
of  Lourdes  ,s^  mdeed,  small,  jus,  a  bi,  of  a  vil- 
tt   I  '"'""''      "■"  "'=  ""^  Lourdes 

of  the  Gave,  over  against  the  famous  Grotto 
has  pretens,ons  to  rank  as  a  city.  I,  has  ts 
banks,  ,ts  public  buildings,   its  electric  ca 

are  almos,  wholly  of  a  devotional  character 
hoWs  and  boarding  houses  without  numtr 

And  e,  twenty.s,x  years  as;o,  jus,  two  years 
before  our  Enghsh  pries,  wrote  his  account, 
there  was  not,  as  an  old  inhabi.ant  told  us  a 
^one  upon  a  stone  of  the  modem,  and,  for  the 
most^par,,  handsome  buildings  that  one  sees 

Nature  has  lavished  her  charms  on  this  fav- 


66       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


oured  spot.  Nothing  is  wanting  of  all  that  can 
please  the  eye  or  st:othe  and  rest  the  mind  in 
natural  scenery.  Lofty  hills  in  front  and  in 
the  rear,  some  bare  and  bald,  others  clothed 
with  forest  to  their  very  tops;  in  the  back- 
ground, the  snow-clad  peaks  and  spurs  of  the 
Pyrenees;  at  your  feet  a  narrow  valley,  stud- 
ded with  stately  trees  and  carpeted  with  green- 
sward :  and  ever  in  your  ears,  though  the  <  ye 
wearied  with  gazing,  should  seek  repose,  <lie 
rushing  waters  of  the  Gave.  Surely  a  filling 
entourage  for  this  most  gracious  of  ali  our 
Lady's  shrines! 

The  waters  of  the  Gave,  how  swiftly  and 
noisily  they  flow,  flinging  themselves  passion- 
ately upon  the  rude  rocks  that  would  stay  their 
onward  course !  The  murmur  of  the  Gave  has 
been  in  my  ears  from  a  boy,  for  I  seemed  to 
hear  the  rushing  of  its  waters  when  in  boy- 
hood's days  I  lingered  over  the  pages  of  Henri 
Lasserre's  fascinating  story  of  the  wonders  of 
Lourdes.  And  to-day  as  I  sit  on  the  bank  and 
gaze  down  upon  the  swift  stream  that  flings 
itself  into  the  Adour  to  mingle  finally  with  the 
waters  of  the  mighty  Atlantic,  the  Gave  of  my 
boyish  dreams  is  a  reality.  It  is  something 
more.    It  is  an  emblem  at  once  and  a  sermon — 


THK  1)1  AKV  OF  a  PILGRIM        67 

in  emblem  of  rhc  surging^  multitude  of  pi|. 
..      .s  u-h.ch  ever  keeps  streatning  to  the  Grotto 
oi  our  Lady,  flowing  hither  from  the  ends  of 
the  earth;  a  sermon  on  the  true  purpose  of  life 
Jjee  how  this  eager  mountain  stream.  like  a 
thmg  of  hfe.  runs  joyously  to  its  rest  in  the 
hosom  of  the  great  ocean!     Not  less  surely 
was  ,t  meant  by  Nature  to  find  there  its  repose 
than  we  are  meant  by  the  Author  of  Nature  to 
find  our  repose  in  Ihm.    Yet  we  linger  by  the 
way  and  lo.ter.  while  the  Gave  leaps  onward, 
oh    how  swiftly  and  how  surely!  to  its  goal 
and  the  home  of  its  rest. 

But  the  Gave  has  not  alway.  been  at  this 
point  the  deep,  narrow,  noisy  stream  that  it  is 
i-'iay.  Once  v  r-arncd  at  will  over  its  rocky 
bed.  niakin.r  i„r  t  ;  If  ._,  wider  and  more  spa- 


r'l 


•tout  stone  walls  fence 
i  vrow  channel,  and  it 
•  'he  wild  beast  of  the 
•'^ind  iron  bars.     In 


i-'j,  1 


'''■■■-  path.. ay      >:, 
It  in  and  c  n'lne  '■  c 
frets  and         n,;  ,  s 
forest  when    rT.pri^r 
these  hot  Julv  .;,,-- 

and  swifter,  fed  I  y  vhe  melting  snows  of  the 
Pyrenees.  But  on  that  February  day.  forty- 
two  years  ago.  it  was  a  feeble  and  mild-man- 
nered  stream.  Bemadette  and  her  two  little 
companions  crossed  the  main  stream  by  the 


l.e  Gave  runs  deeper 


■  fc  .r 


f  ■ 

1% 


68       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 

stone  bridge.     But  a  narrow  side  channel  still 
separated  them  from  the  Grotto  in  the  rocks 
of  Massabielle,  where  was  plenty  of  the  drift 
wood  they  were  in  search  of.    Stooping  down 
slowly  to  pull  off  her  shoes  and  stockings  with 
a   view   of   wading   this   stream,    Bemadette 
heard  a  noise  as  of  a  sudden  gust  of  wind. 
"  It  was  a  calm  grjy  day.  and  not  a  twig  of 
the  poplars  was  stirring,  yet  she  felt  certain 
that   she   had   heard   the   rush   of  air.      She 
stooped  down  again,  and  again  the  mysterious 
current    startled   her.      This   time    the    child 
looked  up  towards  the  niche-shaped  cave.    To 
her  amazement  a  clear  bright  light  issued  from 
the  aperture,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  a 
woman  more  wondrously  beautiful  than  any 
one  Bernadette  had  ever  seen,  or  could  have 
imagined.    She  was  clad  in  white,  with  a  long 
white  veil  falling  over  her  shoulders;  a  blue 
scarf  encircled  her  waist  and  reached  to  her 
knees,  and  upon  either  bare  foot  waj  a  gold- 
coloured  rose."     I  am  quoting  from  my  little 
book.     But  the  story  has  been  often  told  and 
is  trite  now,  thoup^h  it  can  never  be  common- 
place. 

The  number  of  pilgrims  who  visit  Lourdes 
yearly  is  estimated  at  two  hundred  and  fifty 


THE  DIARY  OP  A  PILGRIM       69 

oer  the  sun.  The  two  ends  of  America  are 
w.de  enough  asunder,  yet  .he  fact  of Tr  ^ 
ng  from  the  same  continent  is  a  real  C  bt 

S  whl"^  """  T  fellow-pilgrimrfrom 
Braz.1  whom  we  meet  here  at  the  shrine  of  our 

a«t  Tn  Z  "'V'^"'  '*  P""^  '^  "^-'^  and 
agam  m  the  aud.ence  chamber  of  the  Vatican 

•        ♦       • 


70       THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM 


LouRDEs,  Saturday,  July  21. 
I  VERY  DAY  since  our  coming  here  has 
been  for  us  a  day  of  prayer,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  day  of  rest-rest  for  body 
and  for  soul.     There  is  something  in  the  very 
atmosphere  of  Lourdes  which  inspires  devo- 
tion and  invites  repose.     Every  morning  the 
pilgrims  assist  at  xVlass  in  the  Grotto  and  many 
receive  Holy  Communion.    We  all  of  us  take 
our  places,  too,  in  the  procession  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  and  at  night,  in  the  torch-light  pro- 
cession.    This  morning  at  ten  o'clock  we  had 
Solemn    High    Mass   in   the   Grotto,    with   a 
Canadian  as  ceiebrant,  Canadians  as  ministers 
at  the  altar,  and  Canadians  as  singers.     The 
service  was.  of  course,  in  the  open  air,  and 
very  solemn  and  impressive  it  was.    While  we 
joined  in  the  chant  of  the  Mass.  the  wind  in 
the  trees  around  about  us  seemed  to  sing  an 
accompaniment,  and  the  hoarse-sounding  Gave 
lent  its  deep  bass  voice  as  it  sped  on  its  way  to 
the  ocean. 

To-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock  we  bid  adieu 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  PILGRIM        71 

to  Lourdes.     With  Lourdes  our  pilgrimage 

:v"enin.1  ''"•f'  ^'^'^  ^'^  ^^  ^^  ^-d^ 
evenmg,  our  p,lgr,m  party  breaks  up.     Some 

717      "^  '°^  '  "^^°"'  others'wil,  s" 
from  Liverpool  on   the   following  Thursday 

Ireland.  Belgium,  or  of  France  itself,  before 
urnmg^e.  steps  homeward.    Of  this  numb 
s  the  present  wnter.    But  here  at  Lourdes  as 
have  said,  our  pilgrimage  ends.     And  so 

Lady  by  the  soundmg  waters  of  the  Gave  let 
-e  send  after  its  fellows  this  last  leaf  from 
The  Diary  of  a  Pilgrim. 


iii 

fa 

m 


JOTTINGS  OF  A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


jEAVING  Liverpool  with  its  din  and 
smoke  behind,  we  begin  our  journey  by 
rail,  through  the  northwestern  part  of 
England  toward  the  Scottish  border.     It  is 
near  the  end  of  July,  and  the  weather,  for  Eng- 
land, is  hot.    But  coming  as  we  do  direct  from 
the  stifling  heat  of  Paris,  we  find  it  cool  by 
comparison.  We  are  travelling  by  fast  express, 
and  can  catch  but  passing  glimpses  of  the  towns 
and  hamlets,  the  broad  farms  and  comfortable 
homesteads,  of  Old  England.     Now  we  are 
dashing  through  one  of  the  many  manufactur- 
ing towns   with   which   the   land   is   studded. 
There  are  long  rows  of  red  brick  houses,  with 
here  and  there  a  huge  chimney  belching  forth 
black  smoke.     The  next  moment  we  are  once 
more  in  the  open  country.    On  either  hand  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  are  great  stretches  of 
farmland  and  green  pastures  where  cattle  are 
grazing.     The  grain  is  ripening  in  the  fields, 
and  ever  and  anon  there  comes,  through  the 

72 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND  73 

open  window  of  the  car,  the  sweet  savour  of 
new-mown  hay.    As  we  go  further  north  the 
country  grows  more  rugged.     Dark  ravines 
open  at  our  feet,  and  shaggy  hills  frown  down 
upon  us.     By  three  o'clock  we  have  passed 
Carlisle,  once  the  great  stronghold  of  England 
against   the  fierce   incursions   of   its   warlike 
neighbour  to  the  north.     Soon  after  we  cross 
the  border  and  find  ourselves  on  Scottish  soil 
it  IS  the  land  of  our  fathers- 
Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood. 
Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood,— 

a  land  of  stirring  memories  and  teeming  with 
romance.  It  is  not  without  emotion,  there- 
fore, that  we  enter  it  for  the  first  time  Nor 
does  the  dense  Scotch  mist  into  which  we  run 
before  reaching  Edinburgh  damp  our  enthusi- 
asm m  the  least-though  we  should  not  be  able 
to  say  as  much  for  our  persons  were  we  ex- 
posed to  it  but  for  a  moment. 

We  spend  the  Sunday  in  Edinburgh.  That 
droll  Frenchman  who  writes  under  the  pen- 
name  of  Max  O'Rell,  defines  a  Scotchman  as 
one  who  keeps  the  Sabbath  and  everything 
else  he  can  lay  his  hands  on!     Well,  at  any 


;     . 


74 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


rate  he  keeps  the  Sabbath,  and  that  is  more 
than  many  a  Frenchman  does.    For  the  people 
of  Edinburgh  the  Sunday  is  still  emphatically  a 
day  of  rest.    To  a  Protestant  gentleman  from 
Toronto  who  had  just  come  from  Paris  him- 
self and  put  up  at  the  same  hotel  with  us,  we 
remark  upon  the  contrast  between  the  Parisian 
Sunday  and  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  Scotch  Sab- 
bath.    "  Quite  so,"  he  says.  "  but  you  should 
have  been  here  yesterday  while  the  Labor  Pa- 
rade was  passing  through  the  streets.     You 
would  have  seen  one  after  another  of  the  men 
dropping  out  of  the  procession  in  a  state  of 
beastly  intoxication.    In  all  the  time  that  I  was 
in  Paris  I  saw  no  single  instance  of  such  drunk- 
enness."    He   had    come   away    from    Paris 
greatly  edified,  and  was  leaving  Edinburgh  ut- 
terly disgusted  and  horrified  at  what  he  had 
seen.    Sobriety  was  more  to  him  than  Sunday 
observance.     And  yet  human  frailtv  mav  ac- 
count for  drunkenness,  and  palliate  it  at  least 
in  part.    But  the  violation  of  the  Sunday  has 
Its  root  cause,  it  is  to  be  feared,  in  a  spirit  of 
contempt  for  the  ordinances  of  the  Christian 
Religion. 

Edinburgh  is  not  only  the  capital  of  Scot- 
land, but  the  queen  of  Scottish  cities.    There 


W  ¥ 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND.  Tg 

are  few  finer  cities,  indeed,  in  all  the  world 
Its  broad  and  well  paved  streets  are  kept  scru- 
pulously  clean.  The  buildings,  almost  all  of 
them  of  granite,  are  tall  and  stately.  And  the 
site  with  .ts  picturesque  setting  of  hills  is  su- 
perb   On  one  of  these  hill,,,  west  from  Prince 

tori  r  "'.  ,x"''  "°"'"""''  ^'""ds  the  his- 
toric Castle  hke  a  grim  sentinel  guarding  the 
approaches  „,  the  City.  Climbing  the  hilf  and 
^menng  by  the  draw-bridge,  we  see,  among 
other  .nterestmg  relics  of  the  past,  the  Chapel 
of  the  samtly  Q„een  .Margaret,  and  stand Yn 

urr  r  "■'  '"■'""=<'  "^^y  5'"='"  '°ok 

""tf  '  T"''''  '"  "'■^^'o-  ='"')  "here 
«as  bom  Janjes  the  Si.xth  of  Scotland  and  the 
r.rst  of  England.  In  another  room  hard  bv 
we  gaze  upon  the  ancient  Regalia  of  Scotland, 

erS-      '  ™"°"'  """^  =•""  ^-'°-  P^«- 
The  run  from  Edinburgh  to  Glasgow  bv  rail 
■s  made  ma  little  more  than  one  hour   'ou' 
route  hes  through  Lanarkshire,  famed  for  fe 
coal  mmes  and  iron  foundries.    Glasgow,  with 
popula,on  of  over  one  million,  is  the  second 
city  of  the  Empire.     Unlike  Edinburgh   it  has 
no  pretentions  to  beauty.     Still,  it  L    or^ 
fine  streets  and  very  beautiful  parks,      t  coT 


76 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


I 


tains,  too,  not  a  few  notable  buildings,  and 
there  are  in  and  around  it  many  places  of 
great  historic  interest.  Its  water  supply, 
brought  from  Loch  Katrine,  thirty  miles  dis- 
tant, is  not  surpassed  perhaps  by  that  of  any 
other  city  in  the  world. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  leave  Glasgow  for 
Oban  by  boat.     Steaming  down  the  Clyde,  we 
get  a  good  view  of  the  docks  and  of  the  ships 
both  great  and  small  th.nf  are  a-building  on 
either  bank.     A  few  miles  down  the  river  is 
Douglas  Castle,  and  a  little  beyond,  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  rock  260  feet  in  height,  rises  Dum- 
barton Castle,  famed  in  Scottish  story.     We 
touch  at  Greenock  and  Dunoon,  and  thence 
make  for  Rothesay,  the  capital  of  Bute.    On 
our  left,  as  we  near  the  Bute  shore,  we  see 
Mount  Stuart  House,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis. 
Leaving  Rothesay,  the  steamer  runs  up  the 
Kyles  or  narrows  (from  the  Gaelic  caolas,  a 
strait)  of  Bute,  round  the  northern  end  of  the 
island,  and  down  the  other  side  towards  Ardla- 
mont  Point  on  the  mainland.    The  scenery  on 
this  strait  is  very  fine,  wooded  mountain,  loch, 
and  glen  blending  their  varied  beauties  into 
one  picturesque  whole.     Rounding  Ardlamont 
Point,  we  steer  straight  for  the  harbour  of 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND.  77 

Tarbert.  on  the  coast  of  Kintyre.    Away  to  the 
south,  and  but  dimly  visible  in  the  haze,  is  the 
island  of  Arran.     From  Tarbert  we  proceed 
up  Loch  Fyne  to  Ardrishaig.  180  miles  from 
Glasgow,  at  the  head  of  the  Crinan  Canal 
Th,s  canal,  which  connects  Loch  Fyne  with 
Loch  Cnnan.  and  is  nine  miles  in  length,  runs, 
for  a  great  part  of  the  way.  along  the  base  of 
forest-clad  hills. 

By  this  time,  unluckily  for  us,  it  has  begun 

0  ram  heavdy.  which  mars  our  enjoyment  of 

h     est  of  the  trip  to  Oban.    As  the  boat  stops 

for  the  openmg  of  the  locks  of  the  canal,  we 

'ze  tha   we  have  left  the  Lowlands  behind.    I„ 

a  1  ttle  boy  who  has  shoes  on  (shame  on  him ») 
folovvs  us  from  lock  to  lock,  selling  milk  by 
he  glassful  to  the  passengers.     The  children 

as  to  say.  What  do  we  care  what  these  En- 
gl.sh  strangers  say  or  tl.,,),  „.  „s."  But  the 
2-«^t  I  spealc  to  .hen  in  C.e;ic.  they  grow 
^y  of  me.  and  the  p...  VftK.  g,rls  look  as  if 
they  were  ashamed  to  be  seen  n  their  ^;  re  feet 
Leaving  Crinan.  the  .  este-a  :  r-^^inus  of 
the  canal,  we  have  on  oui  right  the     -alnlanc' 


78 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


of  Argyle;  on  our  left  are  the  islands  of  Jura 
and  Scarba.  Between  the  two  is  the  famous 
whirlpool  of  Corryvrechaf.  the  roar  of  which 
may  be  heard  at  a  distance  of  many  miles. 
Away  in  the  west,  beyond  Ross  of  Mull,  lies 
far-famed  lona,  with  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay 

And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 
That  guard  famed  Staffa  round. 


Presently  we  descry  Dunollie  Castle,  once  the 
chief  stronghold  of  the  Lords  of  Lorn,  and 
soon  after  land  in  Oban. 

Oban  has  been  called  the  Charing  Cross  of 
the  Highlands.    And  such  it  is  in  the  sense  of 
being  the  great  distributing  centre  for  tourists 
and  travellers  by  rail  or  boat.     But  in  every 
other  sense  how  unlike  is  this  quiet  little  town, 
with  its  cosy  harbour  and  crescent  beach,  where 
the  wavelets  play  at  hide-and-seek  with  the 
pebbles,  to  the  bustling  railway  station  in  the 
heart  of  the  biggest  and  busiest  of  all  earth's 
cities?    During  the  summer  months  this  cosy 
harbour  is  crowded  with  pleasure  yachts  from 
all  parts  of  the  world,  and  the  hotels  that  line 
the  pebbly  beach  are  thronged  with  tourists 
from  every  land. 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND.  ^g 

For  Oban  is  a  dainty  place 
In  distant  or  in  nigh  lands. 

^^  t»wn  delights  the  tourist  race 
i-'ke  Oban  in  the  Highlands. 

ZrTf^T'  '"  ^"  '^''  ^"  ^^'^  ^^harming  re- 
sort  on   he  shore  of  the  western  sea 

..  0  Ir  T  '"  '.!''  "''''  '""'■"'"^  ^^-^  ^^ke  the 

si^s^rr-ii:j-^-^'^'och 

v^uMit  Is  on  our  ncht  a^i  «r«. 
steam  out  of  OI,an  I'.av  and  make  fnrJ 
I  Ji'hf    MM   f»,  ^  ^""^  Lismore 

island  of  that  name.      Thencv  <,,,.  , 

through  tlK^  Sound  of  Munrw"^^ 
Poinf     Ti  -^rdnamurchan 

you  have  the  n,„u„,a,„s  of  M„||  o„  the  one 

.and,  a„,l  on  the  other  ,h„«  of  „i,„y  m'^,"; 

surpassmply  grand.     Here  on  the  Mone„ 

w:is:frir;,^:;'r"^'-'-^''"'''" 

Scott's  well  In  '  ''^'"^"'"^  ^^^"^  «f 

the  lines  ""  '"'"'  "''^^  ^^^'"^  -'^h 

;: Wake.  n,aid  of  Lorn."  the  minstrels  sung 
Thy  rugged  halls.  Ardtornish  run^  ^' 

And  the  dark  seas  thy  towers  that  lave 


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MICROCOPV   RESOLUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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ST.  1653  East  Main  Street 

r^  Roctiester.   New   York        U609       USA 

^B  (716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

^5  (716)   288  -  5989  -  Ka« 


80 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave, 
As  'mid  the  tuneful  choir  to  keep 
The  diapason  of  the  deep. 


Near  the  other  end  of  the  sound  is  Tober- 
mory (Mary's  Well),  the  chief  seaport  of 
Mull,  a  very  pretty  town,  in  whose  land-locked 
harbour  ships  of  any  tonnage  find  securest  an- 
chorage. This  port  has  for  us  a  very  special 
interest,  as  we  have  reason  to  believe  that 
from  hence  our  grand-parents  sailed  in  the 
dawn  of  the  century  to  make  for  themselves  a 
home,  beyond  the  stormy  Atlantic,  in  what  was 
then  the  wild  woods  of  Nova  Scotia. 

All  day  long,  from  early  morn  till  set  of 
sun,  we  follow  our  sinuous  course  through  the 
sounds  and  lochs  and  bays  of  this  western  sea, 
calling  here  or  there  to  land  or  take  on  pas- 
sengers. After  leaving  Torbermory  while 
rounding  Ardnamurchan  Point,  and  until  we 
gain  the  shelter  of  towering  Scaur-Eigg,  a  per- 
pendicular cliff  some  five  hundred  feet  high  at 
the  southwestern  extremity  of  the  island  of 
that  name,  we  are  in  the  open  Atlantic,  with 
no  land  to  the  west  of  us  nearer  than  America. 
North  of  Ardnamurchan  lies  Moidart,  where 
Prince  Giarlie  landed  on  the  25th  of  July, 


A  TRIP  IX  SCOTLAND. 


81 
'745.  and  whence  after  manv  vvn«^    ■ 

broken  man.  ^  ^      '  ^  ^°P^^^'^  ^"^ 

From    Eigg    vve    cross    over    to    Ari..,V 

deck  of  a  steamer,  it  is  far  from  being  as  fer 
tWe  as  the  district  that  has  been  namecf  -  ftel  ," 

rpofo^tf'^-    ^"^P-^^P-hereTnoo 
spot  on  the  western  coast  of  Scotland  where 

land,  having  on  our  leff    h      ,    ^      ,  "'^'"" 
R,™       I  ^  "  '"^  islands  of  EiVo- 

Rum,  and  Canna.  and  i,,  from  of  u,  the  so,  ff 
ern  extremity  of  Skve  <;„ 
Sound  of  Sleaf  I„5  •  "  "'^  '"'"  "« 
of  Lochalsh  h  gThe  l^:^  ''"°'"'  '"^  '^^'^ 
Skye  ,i„  we  reach  pireit"'™"  ^"'1  "' 
The  s„n  shines  bright  and    L  ?"      Z?' 

is  dive  sified     l1       T"^'  "  ^^  «"""  »»  't 
'  '"'"  °"^'  ""^  «■'  Sound  of  Raasay.    O^ 


8S 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


the  Skye  shore,  near  the  little  island  of  Holm, 
is  to  be  seen  the  entrance  to  a  cave  famed  as 
one  of  the  hiding  places  of  the  unfortunate 
Prince  Charlie.  Presently  we  pass  out  of  the 
Sound  of  Raasay  and  enter  the  Minch.  On 
the  left.  Ijeyond  the  northern  promontory  of 
Skye,  some  of  the  Hebridean  Islands  are 
visible  in  the  dim  distance.  Behind  us  the 
mountains  of  Skye  rise  in  gloomy  grandeur. 
As  one  gazes  upon  them,  there  comes  to  one's 
mind  these  words  of  MacCrimmon's  Lament, 
done  into  English  by  Sir  Walter  Scott : 

Farewell  to  each  cliflF,  on  which  breakers  are 

foaming, 
Farewell  to  each  dark  glen  in  which  red  deer 

are  roaming; 
Farewell  lovely  Skye,  to  lake,  mountain,  and 

river — 
Return,  return,  return,  we  shall  never. 
(Cha  till,  cha  .11,  cha  till  sinn  tuille.) 

Gairloch  has  a  fine  hotel — with  prices  to 
match.  It  is  a  charming  place,  this  quiet  ham- 
let by  the  sea,  but  lonely  withal.  For  here, 
away  up  north,  one  has  that  sense  of  isolation, 
of  being  cut  off  from  the  great  world,  which 
is  itself  twin-sister  to  the  feeling  of  loneliness. 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


8t3 

Achnasheen  ,  Fielrl  <.(  iU    t-  •  •    ^  ^ 

by  rail     In  f hVT      r        ^'""''"'^  ^"^^  whence 
Dart  of  !u     f        ''  ^'''"  "^''^^  the  road  runs 
larche:      '.'•    '"^'   ^^^^^'^^  a  fine   forest   oi 
arches,    which    seem    to   be    rebt^ri    . 

juniper  , re,  b„.  are  vcr,  ,:^  at  1  ^    c;: 

upon  a  ,„ch  S  ;, : ::'"'  °'  =•  ^'"J*" 

<.eur  or  ,,,e     4^ci  r,f ::: 

Where  the     .rd  Q„  I;,'™:;,?'"'""', 
placed  Wilderness  hath 

M,ngle, heir  echoes  with  the  eagle',  crv 


J 


«■■ 


f      ! 


1; 


84 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


For        -re  more  fittingly  than  here  by  Loch 
Maree,  on  some  lonely  mountain  peak,  could 
the  Queen  of  Wilderness  set  up  her  throne? 
Here,  in  sooth,  are  pathless  glen  and  mountain 
high  and  torrents  flung  from  cliffs.    And  the 
very  spirit  of  Desolation  seems  to  brood  over 
the  place.     You  may  travel  miles  on  this  loch 
without    seeing    a    single    human    habitation. 
Steep  mountains,  bare  of  trees  and  even  of 
vegetation,  shut  it  in  on  all  sides.    The  loftiest 
peak  in  Ruadh  Stac  Mor,  which  rises  to  a 
height  of  3,309   feet;  but  there  are  several 
other  peaks  almost  as  high.    Half  way  up  the 
locn  is  a  summer  hotel   for  tourists,   v/here 
Queen  Victoria  stayed  a  week  something  more 
than  a  score  of  years  ago.    Over  against  this 
hotel,  near  the  other  side  of  the  loch,  is  a 
wooded    islet,    called    Isle   Maree.    on    which 
may  be  seen  the  ruins  of  a  monastery,  "in 
days  of  yore."  says  our  guide  book,  "  an  oasis 
of   learning   in    the    desert    of    heathenism." 
Tradition  has  it  that  the  waters  of  a  well  on 
this    little    island    (mayhap    another    Tobair 
Moire  or   Mary's   Well!)    cured   insanity— a 
tradition  which  the  gentle  Quaker  poet  Whit- 
lier  has  embalmed  in  these  lines : 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


Calm  on  the  breast  of  Isle  Maree 

A  httle  Well  reposes: 
A  shadow  woven  of  the  oak 

And  willow  o'er  ft  closes 
And  whoso  bathes  therein'  his  brow, 

V\  ,th  care  or  madness  burning, 
Feels  once  again  his  healthful  thought 

And  sense  of  peace  returning. 

Lifes  changes  vex.  its  discords  stun, 

Jts  glaring  sunshine  blindeth- 
And  blest  is  he  who  on  his  way 

That  fount  of  healing  findeth! 

I  suspect  that  Loch  Maree  is  an  English 
corruption  of  the  Gaelic  Loch  MairiXt 
Mary  or  Mary's  Loch).  The  monks  t^re 
ZZ  :;"f  ^"'^^^   ^--^  ^J-nts  of  the 


85 


^7 


86 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


the  hardy  Highland  sheep  are  grazing.  Once 
the  summit  of  the  ridge  is  gained,  it  is  down 
hill  to  Achnasheen,  where  we  take  the  train 
for  Inverness.  Our  way  for  several  miles  lies 
through  a  wilderness,  but  all  at  once  wc  come 
upon  a  lovely  strath,  in  as  high  a  state  of  culti- 
vation as  any  district  we  have  seen  in  the  Low- 
lands or  even  in  England.  It  hoks  all  the 
more  beautiful  i)y  contrast  with  the  barren  and 
desolate  ref^ion  through  which  we  have  just 
passed.  The  name  of  it  I  cannot  for  the 
moment  recall.  But  the  valley  itself  as  I  saw 
it.  with  the  bloom  of  summer  ujion  it.  and  the 
light  of  the  westering  sun,  is  vividly  present  to 
my  imagination. 

Inverness,  at  the  mouth  of  the  River  Ness, 
is,  after  Edinburgh,  the  handsomest  city  n 
Scotland.  Prof.  Blackie  sings  its  praises  in 
the  following  sonnet : 

Some  sing  of  Rome,  and  some  of  Florence:  I 
Will  sound  thy  Highland  praise,  fair  Inver- 
ness; 

And  till  some  worthier  bard  thy  thanks  may 

buy. 
Hope  for  the  greater,  but  not  spurn  the  less. 
All  things  that  make  a  city  fair  are  thine, 


A  THIP  IN  SCOTLANB. 


ST 

R '.  ,  "'  ^"''  el'ns.  and  valiant  n,on,  who  shine 
Bngh  es,  ,„  Britain's  glory  roll,  and  stand 

swtr"^  Of  her  l«,nds-wide-circ,in. 
Of  rich^green  slopes  a„,l  ,.„„,,  e„,p„rplod 

Icn  pie  and  tower  are  thine,  and  castle,l  keep 
And^an,p,e  stream,  that  roun.i  fair  gardened 

Rolls  its  majestic  current,  wreathed  in  smiles. 

Scotland,  as  a  glance  at  a  map  of  the  globe 

-Nova  icotia    Up  here  at  Inverness,  during  the 

.e7,;T'm     t'^V'''^ '^"'■«''' '-'^ '■•"'- 

h    dav  is  a.  i,  ?'""'  "^  ™"  "f  J™^'  -h™ 
hi  i-   ?         °"^'''-  "'^  ^'"^  *«s  no  tnore 

and  at  no  t,me  of  the  night  does  its  light  fade 
=>v;ay  altogether  from  the  northern  sky 

/S'  C'  '™'"  '"^^"-"^  -  Culloden 
deS"  ^"  "\^'^"  "<«  that  "field  of  the 
dead  so  fraught  with  saddening  memorie! 
to  every  Highlander.  memories 

Leaving  the  capital  of  the  Highlands,  we  go 


88 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


by  boat  to  Fort  W'iniam  through  the  Ca 
donian  Canal.    This  passa  ;e  is  sixty-two  miles 
long.     There  are  twenty- four  miles  of  canal, 
and  thirt^  eight  of  natural  lake,  namely.  Loch 
Ness  (24  miles).  Locli  Oich   (4  miles),  and 
Loch  Lochy  (10  miles).     On  these  lochs  and 
along  the  stretches  of  land  between  them  the 
scenery  is  of  surpassing  beauty.     On  either 
side  is  a  ranf?  of  purple  hills  rising  in  places 
to  a  great  height.    Now  they  clr  .,e  in  about  us 
as  if  to  dispute  our  passage.    The  next  moment 
they  fall  bacK  and  form  into  line  in  the  rear, 
keeping  ward  over  the  great  highw.iy  of  waters 
that  cleaves  the  land  of  the  Scottish  Gael  in 
twain  and  weds  :wo  seas  together.    And  now 
Ben  Nevis  (4,406  ft.)  looms  afar  off  on  the 
left,  lording  it  over  all  the  hills.    At  his  feet 
and  under  his  very  shadow  stands  Fort  Wil- 
liam, known  to  the  ola  folk  as  An  Gearristan. 
Along  the  plain  below  rolls  the  Lochy  River 
till   it  empties  its  waters  into  Loch  Linnhe. 
Those  glens  that  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain range  northeastward  from  Ben  ITevis  are 
Ruaidh  and  Spean.  along  the  rivers  of  the  same 
name.     And  this  is  Lochaber,  "  synonym  for 
an  ex'le's  wail."     Children  we  of  these  sad- 
eyed  exiles,  is  it  any  wonder  that  our  hearts 


A  TRIP  IX  SCOTLAND.  89 

H.  I  uT  ''"'''''-'  '"  '''  '''''  ""  '^'  heather, 
clad  h.lls  now  rising  before  us?     Even  we 

of  the  third  ;er.r.ntion.  still  feel  within  us 
someth.ng  of  their  heart-hunger  for  the  old 
home  they  loved  so  -.vell^the  hea-t-hunger 
vh.ch  ottnd  a  voice  and  still  finds  an  echo  in 
that  saddest  of  sad  refrains. 

Lochaber    Loc!,aI,er.   Lochaber  no  more. 
Well  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more. 

The  Highlands,  and  the  islands  on  the  west 
of  Scotland,  arc  to-day  but  sparsely  populated. 
A  hundred  years  ago  these  lovely  straths  and 
g^ns  were  fill.d  with  people.  Even  the  braes 
and  moorlands,  now  so  bare  rnd  barren 
yjelJed  a  frug.I  livdihood  to  a  hardv  race  of' 

sTmnle  T  r"^\^^-^^^    ^--  and  tastes  most 
imple.    To-day  whole  districts  are  given  over 
to  sheep  and  deer. 

In  Highland  glens  'tis  far  too  oft  observed. 
That  man  ks  chased  away  and  game  preserved. 

So  wrote  the  Hon.  John  Bright,  in  blunt  but 
honest  Enghsh  fashion.  More  pathetic  is  the 
tale  of  deso.aion  as  told  in  Gaelic  verse-in 


90 


A  TKIF»  IN  SCOTLAND. 


linrs  of  exquisite  tciuliTiicss  and  l)cniity— by 
one  who  is  a  native  of  those  kIoiis  and  "  to  the 
manner  horn  "—one  who  has  in  our  own  day 
siuressfnlly  wooed  the  llij,'hlan(l  Muse  "  *manj» 
the  honnie  Fli^hland  heather  "--Maeleod,  the 
spirited  hard  of  Skye.  I  .|ii.,ie  two  (.r  three 
stanzas  fron)  his  poem,  Anns  a  Ghleann  'san 
KoI)h  Mi  Oj;: 

Tha  na  fardaii  heatt  "n  an  fasaich 
Tsir  an  d'araicheadh  na  seoid, 
Far'ni  hii  eliridheil  fuaini  an  ^'aire. 
Knr'ni  hu  chairdcal  iad  niun  hhord; 
Far  a  fhaij^dieadh  c<»ij^reach  haigh, 

Apis  anrach  i)oehd  a  Ion; 
Ach  oha'n  fliaijjh  iad  sin's  an  am  so 
Anns  a'  ghleann's  an  robh  mi  eg. 


Oiaochail  madinnn  ait  ar  n-   "ge 

ATar  an  ceo  air  hha>  r  na.-.i  heann, 
Tha  ar  cairdean  's  ar  hirhd-eo!ais 

Air  a  fojjradh  hhos  -s  thai!: 
Tha  cuid  eile  dhuihh  nacli  ghtais. 

Tha'n  na  caJal  huan  fodh'n  fhod. 
'Bha  gun  uaill.  gun  fhuath.  gun  anthlachd, 

Anns  a'  ghleann's  an  rohh  iad  og. 


A  TKIP  IN  SCOTLAND.  91 

Mo  shc.aidh  I.is  ^raci,  ciiairteig. 

I-c.^ach  liniailKu^apuscos: 
Alnntricann.I.I,  ,„i  Vliiai    -is 

'.V  a,„  •|,hi  iHKuhaillcaclul  nam  b.>~ 
•Nii.'"ratIiij,Mn.,ms^r„  Vcann. 

Affiis  fcas^'ar  fann      .,  I,, 

H'einomhiannaMMsanamsin 
Annsa'ghleanir.sanr.,l)|,  mio^r. 

The  soHR   .as  1k.,„  ,|,„,  ,•„,„  p     j. 
a  l.r  -nto  nnx.I  K„„is„  ,.„  ,,n,JscotZ 
uit  .t  has  lost  sonu-what  in  the  rendering     The 
foregoing  stan.a.  run  thus  in  the  translation: 

Now  in  ruins  are  the  (Iwelhn's. 

^Vhcre  ance  hve.l  a  gallant  dan 
The.r's  was  aye  the  friendly  welcome 

I  heir  s  was  aye  the  open  han'; 
There  the  stranger  antl  the  puir' 

Found  a  place  at  the  f.re-en'  • 
Now  alas!  there's  nane  tae  greet  them 

In  my  bonnie  native  glen. 

Like  the  mist  upon  the  mountain 
Youth's  glad  morn  (,f  promise  died 

And  our  kinsfolk  and  accjuaintance        ' 
They  are  scattered  far  and  wide- 


W  A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 

Some  of  them  are  sleepin'  soun' 
Neath  the  shadow  of  the  ben, 

That  were  ance  baith  leal  and  hearty 
In  their  bonnie  native  glen. 

But  now  fare  ye  weel  each  fountain, 

Each  sweet  dell  an'  grassy  brae. 
Where  fu'  aft  the  kye  I  herded, 

In  my  boyhood's  happy  day. 
When  life's  gloamin'  settles  down, 

An'  my  race  is  at  an  en', 
'Tis  my  wish  that  death  should  find  me 

In  my  bonnie  native  glen. 

Wherever  you  travel  in  the  Western  High- 
lands you  hear  Gaelic  spoken.    And  ever  as  it 
strikes  upon  your  ears,  there  arises  within  you 
—at  least  if  you  happen  to  be  a  Highlander 
yourself— the  question,   Will  the  old  tongue 
live  on  here  amid  the  bens  and  glens  that  have 
echoed  with  it  since  immemorial  time  ?    Or  is  it 
doomed  to  die  out  in  this  its  ancient  home  ?    It 
is  hard  to  say.     For  my  own  part,  I  believe 
Gaelic  will  be  spoken  in  the  Highlands  so  long 
as  there  are  Highlanders  there.     But  I  don't 
know  how  long  that  will  be.     Certainly  they 
are  far  fewer  to-day  than  they  were  at  the  be- 


A  TRIP  IX  SCOTLAND. 


93 

ginning  of  the  last  century      AnH  th. 

peopling  of  n,e  Highiirr  ha :  «re:::r 

Perhaps  rather  than  fdt-bv  tJl.t'^T^T 
ready  quoted,  in  the  fo„o!rg1iL,'r  ''^''  ="■ 

'S  bidh  fhathast  a  cairdean 

Mar  bha  iad  bho  chian, 
An'  duthaich  nan  ardbheann 

An  aite  nam  fiadh  ; 
Gu  curanta'  laidir, 

Gu  blath-chridheach  fial, 
S  an  comhradh  gach  la 
Ann  an  canan  nam  Fionn. 

in  trH'^n^'f'''  ^'"^""^^  '^^'^  a'so  survives 

HiS::^t;^;-s::t7f^-^^^^ 

aij  «^eJts  mdeed,  are  note4 


94 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 


wherever  they  are  found.  But  while  the 
people  there  give  of  their  Highland  cheer  to  all 
who  visit  them,  they  have  a  particularly  warm 
place  in  their  hearts  for  "  muinntir  America," 
their  kinsmen  from  across  the  seas. 


I 


' 


Leaving  Fort  William,  we  go  by  boat  on 
Loch  Linnhe  to  Oban.  The  boat  calls  at 
several  places,  among  them  Ballachulish,  at  the 
entrance  to  Loch  Leven,  whence  we  get  a 
glimpse  in  the  distance  of  Glencoe.  Even  on 
this  bright  summer's  day  the  narrow  pass, 
hemmed  in  by  frowning  mountains,  looks 
gloomy  and  dark— fitting  theatre  for  the  black 
and  fearful  tragedy  that  was  enacted  there. 

From  Oban  we  return  to  Glasgow  through 
the  Trossachs,  part  of  the  way  by  rail,  part 
of  the  way  by  boat  on  Loch  Lomond  and  Loch 
Katrine,  and  part  of  the  way  by  coach  between  , 
the  lochs.  The  whole  country  through  which 
we  pass  is  classic  ground,  familiar  to  every 
lover  of  Scott.  To  describe  the  scenery  of  the 
Trossachs.  therefore,  after  the  exquisite  word- 
painting  of  it  in  prose  and  verse  that  we  have 
from  the  pen  of  Sir  Walter,  were  as  "  wasteful 
and  ridiculous  excess  "  as 


A  TRIP  IN  SCOTLAND. 

To  pld  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily, 
To  add  a  perfume  to  the  violet. 


»s 


are  tolltan     !  '^l'  ""'^  *'  ^°'"""  ''«»» 
Queen.     The  whole  Empire  mourns,  and  the 

poittui:  e' oVr  ctr !-'  "•""'■'■'^' 

that  is  now  ended,  ^      ''  ^'°"°"^  "'en 

"Her  court  was  pure;  her  life  serene: 
God  gave  her  peace,  her  land  reposed; 

In  her  as  Mother,  Wife,  and  Queen  " 


ROME. 


A  Christmas  Reminiscence. 


^T  is  not  often  I    am  in  a  reminiscent 
mood.     Even  should  the  mood  come 
upon    me.     I     can     seldom     indulge 
it.     In     this,   work-a-day     world    the    cares 
and    duties    of    the    present    crowd    out    the 
memories    of    the    past.      But    ever    as    the 
blessed  season  of  Christmas  comes  round  the 
mind  is  in  a  measure  freed  from  the  tyrant 
grasp  of  the  present.    And  at  the  approach  of 
this   festival  mine  loves  to  go  back,  swiftly 
overleaping  the.barriers  of  space  and  time,  to 
the  dear  old  City  on  the  Tiber,  where  I  spent 
five  of  the  happiest  years  of  my  life.     I  can 
remember  as  distinctly  as  though  it  were  yes- 
terday the  day  when  first  I  set  foot  in  Rome. 
It  was  toward  the  end  of  October,  1879.    The 
sun  shone  out  brightly  from  the  deep  blue  of 
the  Italian  sky,  and  the  soft,  balmy  breath  of 
summer  still  lingered  in  the  air.     From  early 
morning  we  had  traversed  a  land  of  almost 

96 


ROME 


97 


ideal  loveliness,  now  skirting  the  shores  of  the 
sparklmg  Mediterranean,  now  dash  tag  '  ,1 
v,^as  and  vineyards  where  the  air  was'latn 

-sw,;Tk":rntf  ""'^«^-  ^"-^ 

""-ly  sinking  in  the  west  as  we  oassefl 
Civita  Vecchia,  the  seaport  of  Ro„,e,  and  sp  d 

RoZ  T  "'™'"^''  "•'  "^^-y  -  te  of  the 

Roman  Campagna.     Soon   the   Alban   H  III 

oomed  up  in  front,  while  the  line  of  sea-coa 

etching  away  on  the  right  was  fast  falg 

from  the  view.    There,  where  the  Tiber  flii^gf 

Home,    fa4,  L^t^rsS'  7t^ 
knows  m  the  far  distance,  Carthage,  Ron  Js 

Im    rf '  '"''  """^  y^  ''-  -    "dive 
opum  studiisque  asperrinia  belli  " 

And  now  we  are  within  the  city  walls   the 
tran  draws  up  to  the  depot,  and  I  step  ^h 

one  wh!"  ;    r"'-^"  ""'  "■'■"'  '"e  feehngs  of 
one  «  ho  sets  foot  in  a  strange  city  ■  for  Rom. 

JWy,  IS   and   always   will   be   the  capital  of 

Christendom,  the  centre  from  which  Ca^e 

he  lights  of  Catholicity  over  all  the  earth  ttd 

the  ho„e  of  the  pilgrim  from  every  land 

One  who  goes  from  America  into  Europe 


98 


ROME 


realizes  that  to  have  crossed  the  Atlantic  is  not 
merely  to  have  left  one  part  of  the  habitable 
globe  and  gone  into  another.    It  is  a  passing 
from  the  New  World  into  the  Old,  in  almost 
every  respect  a  different  world  from  the  one 
that  is  left  behind.    And  in  no  place  as  at  Rome 
is  it  brought  home  to  one  who  crosses  the  ocean 
that  the  Atlantic  is  not  the  only  gulf  that  di- 
vides these  two  worlds.     Rome  is  the  typical 
city  of  the  Old  World,  or  rather  is  the  Old 
World  in  miniature.    There  all  its  most  strik- 
ing characteristics  meet  as  they  do  in  no  other 
European  city.    There  you  may  study  old  world 
customs  and  the  old  world  life  in  its  many 
phases,   old  world  art  and  architecture,  and 
above  all  those  old-world  monuments  and  ruins 
around  which  gather  a  thousand  historical  as- 
sociations.    Here  rises  the  Palatine  Hill,  the 
original  site  and  centre  of  the  embryo  mistress 
of  the  world,  where  tradition  places  the  dwell- 
ing of  Romulus,  and  where  later  stood  the 
gorg'^ous  palace  of  the  Caesar-,  whose  ruins 
still  atttst  its  old-time  grandeur.    Below  is  the 
Roman  Forum  which  once  rang  with  the  elo- 
quence of  Cicero,  and  traversing  it  from  north 
to  south,  the  Via  Sacra  or  Sacred  Way.    At 
one  end  of  the  Forum  is  the  Mamertine  Prison, 


ROME 


99 


where  LT.  I  H    "''    "'^^^^^^^--^    ^"ngeon. 
sTriHn  ^  ''P''"'  "^y  P^g^"  R"'"e  were 

strangled  or  starved  to  death,  and  where  st.ll 

ex,sts^he  spring  which,  according  to  trlditi^^^^^ 
^t.   Peter,  imprisoned  here  under  Nero    mi 
raculously  caused  to  flow  in  order  to  baptt 

ine  L-oiosseum,  nearly  one-third  of  a 

arf4      hi     ^'        r""'"'^-    ""^-  '•"  'he 

tnousands  of  Christian   .nartvrs    foucht  the 
g~d  %ht  a„„  won  the  crown.'  A  c„afn   p  t 

^"  hasTL:"* ""'' '""" '"' «"'  -■ 

AnH  U       I     *^°'°'^^""'  R""'e  shall  fall. 
And  when  Ron,,  falls,  with  it  shall  fall  ihe 

Bat  I  should  never  end  if  I  were  to  speak  of  all 

AntiruTr"  °f  '"'"•  '''^'"  and  Christian 

Wween  the  ancent  and  the  modern  world 

The  Rome  of  ,o-day  is  not  the  Rome  of 
twenty  years  ago.    The  tourist  who  wandered 


If 


'^^.  ?,i.  I 


100 


ROME 


and  mused  among  the  ruins  in  and  around 
it  then  would  scarcely  know  it  now,  so  vast 
IS  the  change  that  has  come  over  it.    Your  mat- 
ter-of-fact modem  man,  who  scowls  at  an- 
tiquity and  lives  in  and  for  the  present  only, 
would  say  that  the  change  has  been  greatly  for 
the  better.     Streets  have  been  widened  and 
straightened,  numberless  new  ones  have  been 
opened,  and  the  wide  space  east  and  south  of 
the  Esquiline  Hill,  once  studded  with  vener- 
able ruins,  is  now  occupied  by  rows  of  huge 
brick  buildings,  inferior  in  make  and  unsightly. 
In  a  word,  the  old  Rome,  amid  whose  magnif- 
icent ruins  still  abode  the  genius  of  Antiquity, 
has  all  but  disappeared,  and  the  new  Rome,  a 
third-rate  modern  city,  shorn  of  much  of  its 
historical    interest,    has    usurped    its    place. 
"  Rome  in  twenty  or  thirty  years,"  wrote  Mr. 
Frederick   Harrison    recently   in   the   "Fort- 
nightly Review."  "  has  become  like  any  other 
European  city— big.  noisy,  vulgar,  overgrown, 
Frenchified  and  syndicate-ridden." 

Rome,  Rome  thou  art  no  more 

As  thou  hast  been ! 
On  thy  seven  hills  of  yore 

Thou  sat'st  a  queen. 


ROME 


101 


Newman  had  written  of  it,  on  visiting  it  for 
the  first  time  in  Jie  early  thirties  of  last  cen- 
tury: "And  now  what  can  I  say  of  Rome, 
but  that  it  is  the  first  of  all  cities,  and  that  all 
I  ever  saw  are  but  as  dust  (even  dear  old  Ox- 
ford inclusive)  compared  with  its  majesty  and 
glory? "    It  has  certainly  since  then  lost  much 
of  its  charm   for  the  tourist  and  the  anti- 
quarian.   But  the  majesty  and  glory  that  so  im- 
pressed  Newman— these  no  spoiler's  hand  can 
pluck  from  the  brow  of  the  queenly  city  on  the 
Tiber. 

It  is    not    merely   the    glamour    antiquity 
throws  around  it  that  makes  Rome  a  centre  of 
attraction.    In  the  wotidrous  works  of  art  gath- 
ered into  it  from  every  side,  in  the  number 
and  magnificence  of  its  churches  and  shrines 
m  the  prestige  it  possesses  as  the  capital  of  the 
Christian  world  for  eighteen  hundred  years,  it 
stands  peerless  among  the  cities  of  the  earth 
Anything  like  a  detailed  account  of  the  art 
treasures    in    the    Vatican    alone    would    fill 
volumes.    Almost  every  church  in  Rome,  too 
and  every  palace,  has  its  works  of  art,   its 
pamtings,  mosaics,  and  sculptures,  of  priceless 
value.    And  as  for  the  churches,  no  words  can 
fittmgly  describe  them.    "  They  could  not  have 


lOS 


ROME 


been  in  any  place  but  Rome,  which  has  turned 
the  materials  and  buildings  of  the  Empire  to 
the  purposes  of  religion."    The  exterior,  save 
in  the  case  of  the  large  basilicas,  is  not  strik- 
ing; their  beauty,  like  the  glory  of  the  king's 
daughter,   is  within.     St.   Peter's,  of  course, 
stands  apart  from  and  above  them  all.  a  world 
of  wonders  in  itself.     Thr  first  visit  does  not 
reveal    its   vastness   nor   the   e.xc|uisite   grace 
and  delicacy  of  its  proportions.    It  is  only  by 
visiting    t  again  and  again  that  one  can    so 
to  speak,  take  it  all   in,  if  indeed  one  can 
ever  do  so.    There  is  this  peculiarity  about  it, 
too.  that  it  has  what,  for  want  of  a  better 
word  to  convey  the  idea,  I  am  tempted  to 
call  a  climate  of  its  own.     In  winter,  when 
Kv)me  is  swept  by  the  tramontana.  a  penetrat- 
ing and  chilling  wind  which  blov/s  for  days 
at  a  time  from  the  snow-capped  Apennines, 
making  life  scarce  worth  living  in  the  fireless 
apartments  of  the  Roman  dwellings,  you  will 
find  warmth  and  comfort  within  St.  Peter's. 
And  in  vain  will  you  seek  amid  the  shady 
groves  of  the  Roman  villas  for  a  tithe  of  the 
delicious    coolness    that    dwells    within    the 
charmed  circle  of  its  walls  all  through  ihe 
broiling  heat  of  the  summer  months  in  Rome. 


ROME 


108 


Eternal  Lny?  Ir  September.  1870.  Victor 
Emmanuels  troops  entered  Rone  by  the 
breach  of  Porta  Pia  ami  uith  tU.-  • 

the  ol(l-t,me  Christmas  and  the  old-time  Faster 
went  out.    The  fiithf,.)  v  ^  '-^sier 

a  Mery  Christmas  since.     The  Pope  used  to 
p  oceed  m  person  to  celebrate  the  midnight 
Mass  a   St.  Mary  Major's,  where  is  preserved 
the  Cr.b  .n  wh,ch  che  Infant  Saviour  was  laid 
->"  the  mght  of  His  Nativity.     With  the  ex- 
cept.on  of  the  Easter  celebrations,  it  was  ^he 
most  ,mposmg  ce-emony  that  could  be  wit- 
nessed at  Rome  in  those  days.     The  Saviour's 
Cnb  ,s  a  ways  borne  in  procession  through  the 
hurch  of  St.  Mary  Major's  on  Christmas  Kve 
In  som.  of  the  churches,  and  even  in  private 
houses  the  scene  of  the  Christ  ChiUrs  birth  in 
Bethlehem  .s  represented  in  a  wonderfully  ar- 
t.st.c  and  hfe-hke  way.     One  of  these  repre- 
sentations.  which  are  got  up  mainly  for  the  chil- 
clren  ,s  to  be  seen  in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria 
m  Aracoeh.  situated  on  the  Capitoline  Hill 
where  once  stood  a  temple  of  Jove.    Hither  we 
students  of  the  Propaganda  used  to  wend  ou 
way.   durmg  the  days   within   the  octave  of 
Christmas,  to  listen  to  the  "  children  preachers 


104 


ROME 


of  Aracocli."  These  little  ones,  from  five  to 
ten  years  of  age,  standing  on  a  platform  facing 
the  Christmas  Crib,  lifted  their  fresh  young 
voices  in  gree  g  and  prayer  to  their  new- 
bom  King.  It  recalled  the  scene  described  in 
Matt.  21:15.16:  the  children  crying  in  the 
temple,  "  Hosanna  to  the  Son  of  David,"  and 
Jesus  saying  to  those  who  would  rebuke  them. 
"  Yea,  have  you  never  read,  Out «  f  the  mouths 
of  infants  and  sucklings  thou  has  perfeaed 
praise." 


THE  ROSES  OF  ASSISI. 


N  The  Ave  Maria,  of  February  8,  1908, 
the    noted    Danish    writer.    Johannes 
Jorgensen.  tells  of  a  visit  to  Assisi,  and 
rnakes   this   passing  alhision   to  the  singular 
phenomenon  also  alluded  to  in  The  Diary  of  a 
Pilgrim:     "Then    there   n   the    rose   garden 
where  the  hushes  are  strangely  flecked  as  if 
with  spots  of  blocxJ."  When  the  present  writer 
stood  beside  this  little  plot,  in  the  early  days  of 
July.  1900.  the  nxses  were  n(.t  in  bloom— it  was 
past  their  season  in  Italy-but  the  bu*  ■  es  were 
in  leaf,  of  course.     Strictly  spealcing,  it  is  not 
the  bushes  that  bear  the  flecks  of  red.  but  the 
roses  and  the  leaves.     The  impression  made 
upon  one  is  not  soon  effaced.    It  looks  for  all 
the  world  as  if  those  leaves  had  been  sprinkled 
wuh  blood.     Here  and  there  a  leaf  seems  to 
have  caught  a  drop,  a  few.  two  or  three,  which 
left  a  crimson  stain,  while  most  show  a  fleckless 
green.    But  this  is  not  the  most  striking  phase 
of  the  phenomenon.    It  has  passed  into  a  prov- 


106  THE  ROSES  OF  ASSISI 

erb  that  there  is  no  rose  without  its  thorn, 
though  Mihon,  in  a  flight  of  fancy,  found  in 
our  lost  paradise. 

Flowers  of  all  hue.  and  without  thorn  the 
rose. 

But  under  the  lovely  sky  of  Italy  and  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Umbrian  hills,  in  fair  As- 
s.si,  famed  forever  as  the  birthplace  and  earlv 
home  of  the  Poverello.  grow  roses  without 
thorns.     The  writer  felt  the  bushes  with  his 
hand,  and  proved  them  thornless.     What  is 
more,  our  little  pilgrim  group,  of  whom  some 
have  smce  gone  on  their  long  pilgrimage,  were 
told  on  that  July  day,  seven  years  ago,  by  the 
Prior  of  the  Franciscan  Monastery,  a  true  son 
of   Samt   Francis   if   appearances   count    for 
aught,  that  time  and  time  again  was  the  ex- 
periment made  of  transplanting  those  bushes, 
and  that  they  grew  up  with  thorns  and  with 
stamless  leaves.    Here  is  the  legend,  if  legend 
that  can  be  called,   which  Nature  seems  to 
vouch  for,  copied  from  a  leaflet,  enclosing  a 
spray  of  the  rose  leaves  now  brown  with  the 
years,   which   the  writer  brought  with  him 
from  Assisi : 


THE  ROSES  OF  ASSISI  107 

"  One  bitter  winter's  night.  S.  Francis  being 
sorely  tempted  by  the  devil  to  lessen  his  aus 
tent.es.  overcame  the  evil  one  by  throwing  him- 
self  mto  a  thicket  of  briers,  and  rolling  himself 
m  .t  till  his  body  was  all  torn  and  bleeding 
At  the  same  moment  the  briers  were  changed 
mto  rose  trees  in  full  bloom,  and  a  heavenly 
brightness  shone  around,  and  angels  came  to 
lead  S.  Francs  to  the  Church  of  the  Portiun- 

Pertn      "   ''"^''^^^'   '^^''^'   '^   ^im   in 
Person   accompanied  by   His   Mother  and  a 

heaven,3.  host  and  granted  him  the  Indulgence 
of  the  Portmncula.  The  miraculous  rose 
bushes  have  no  thorns,  their  leaves  are  stained 
w.t  spots  l^e  blood  in  May.  and  can  be  seL 
•n  the  Garden  of  the  Friary  adjoining  the 
Portmncula  at  the  village  of  Santa  Maria  degli 
Angel^wh.ch  .s  close  to  the  Station  of  AssL 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES. 


December  io,  'o8. 
'  E  leave  New  York  at  noon.     It  is  a 
perfect  -a  inter's  day— the  air  cold  and 
crisp,  the  sun  brightly  shining.    There 
are  all  manner  of  craft  in  the  North  River,  or 
Hudson,   and   our  big  ship   makes   her  way 
among  them  with  leisurely  dignity.     On  our 
starboard  is  Jersey  City;  on  the  port  side,  the 
buildings  of  Old  Manhattan  raise  their  giant 
forms,  fearfully  and  wonderfully  tall.     Pres- 
ently we  pass  by  the  statue  of  Liberty,  and 
leave  the  great  metropolis  of  the  New  World 
behind.      A    marvellous   city    is    New   York, 
marching  forward  with  gigantic  strides  to  the 
forefront  of  the  world's  cities.     Even  now  it 
IS  second  only  to  London,  and  in  ways  not  a 
few  ,t  is  first.    We  pass  out  of  the  roar  of  its 
traffic,  away  from  its  teeming,  busy  life,  and 
the    restful    ocean    takes    us   to    its    heaving 
bosom. 

"  Our  next  port  of  call  is  Boston,"  says  one 
108 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  109 

passenger  to  another  standing  near  him,  just  as 
we  are  getting  out  to  sea.     "  Not  at  all,"  re- 
joins  the   other,    "this   boat   doesn't   call   at 
Boston."    An  officer  of  the  ship,  who  is  stand- 
ing by,  is  appealed  to.  and  he  bears  out  the 
first    speaker.      The    news    is    received    with 
siirpnse  amounting  almost  to  consternation 
Hardly  one  of  the  passengers  knew  of  this 
change  in  our  programme  of  travel.     Back 
to  Boston:  it  is  like  going  back  home  again! 
liut  to  Boston  we  steer  our  course.    Off  Cape 
Cod  miles  and  miles  out  at  sea,  men  are  fishing 
in  their  dories.    We  pass  within  fifty  yards  of 
one.  but  so  intent  is  he  upon  his  work  that  he 
does  not  as  much  as  cast  one  look  at  us.    \fter 
a  httle  we  pick  up  our  pilot,  and  begin  thread- 
ing our  way  through  the  narrow  entrance  to 
i>oston  harbour. 


December  n. 
Our  ship  is  docked  at  Charlestown  We 
go  ashore,  take  an  "  L "  road  c2t  at  City 
Square,  and  speedily  reach  Boston.  Our 
friends  in  the  city,  to  whom  we  bade  farewell 
a  few  days  before,  are  almost  thunderstruck 
at  seeing  us.     They  can  scarce  believe  their 


M 


110  FROM  NEV^  YORK  TO  NAT^LES 

eyes.  We  seem  to  have  dropped  upon  them 
from  the  skies,  or  rather  to  have  been  spirited 
back  through  space  from  the  ocean.  A  few 
words  clear  up  the  mystery.  Next  morning 
(Saturday)  we  say  an  early  Mass.  and  hasten 
back  on  board.  But  the  good  ship  "  Cretic  " 
IS  in  no  hurry  to  put  to  sea.  She  hngers  for  a 
full  hour  beyond  the  allotted  time.  We  could 
not  have  missed  her  if  we  tried. 


December  12. 
It  is  snowing  heavily  as  we  steam  slowly 
out  of  Boston  harbour.     We  drop  our  pilot, 
and  at  noon  have  the  lightship  abeam.     At 
las    we  are  fairly  under  way,  but  so  thickly 
falls  the  snow  that  we  move  along  at  little  more 
than   half-speed,    and    the    steamer's    whistle 
keeps  blowmg  as  in  a  fog.    After  an  hour  or 
two  we  run  out  of  the  snowstorm,  and  the 
whistlmg  ceases.     A  tugboat  inward  bound 
towmg  three  huge  barges,  is  the  last  object  we 
descry  this'  day.  for  darkness  soon  settles  upon 
the  scene.  ^ 

This  evening  I  sit  and  listen  dreamily  to  the 
50ft  accents  of  the  Italian  tongue.    One  or  two 


I 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  111 

rhintV^^"^"  passengers  are  Italian  and  the 
and  song.    It  ,s  twenty-five  years  since  I  dwelt 

rara:^:h''"^^'"^'"^^"^^'^"-^" 

ear  and  those  .nmntable  gestures  the  eye  as 
fannharly  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.  What  a 
wonderful  thing  is  „,en,ory!    How'it  hrrdges 

•'St  etch  .'  I  "',  'T''  '^^  P"^^'^  P'-^^^^^'  -"d 
forms  of  thmgs  long  passed  away. 

Vedi    Napoli    e   poi    Mori."      This     mv 

nriie'       vT"^"^''^'--     "See  Naples 
Vesuv.!.     •        .>'°\^PP'-«^^'^  Naples.  Mount 
Vesuvius  rises  ,n  the  rear,  and  beyond  it  is 
the  little  town  of  Mori      The  nriv^L^ 
i<!    "  «:«^  \T     1  .  ^  original  saying 

's,      See  Naples  and  then  Mori."     But  as  i1 
happens  that  "  mori  "  is  also  the  imperative  o 
the  verb     monre  "-"  to  die."  a  play  upon  the 

then  die   -as  if  no  place  ei.e  worth  seeing 
were  left  in  all  the  wide  world.  ^ 

•    «    « 


118  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 


December  13. 

Our  first  Sunday  at  sea,  the  third  of  Advent. 
We  have  passed  from  the  region  of  snow  and 
sleet,  and  the  change  is  welcome.  The  morn- 
ing breaks  bright  and  clear,  and  as  the  day 
wears  on  it  grows  distinctly  warmer.  The  sun 
shines  out  of  a  cloudless  sky  and  the  air  is 
balmy  as  in  a  June  day.  While  I  write  the 
thermometer  out  on  the  promenade  deck  shows 
56  degrees  in  the  shade.  Frost  and  snow  are 
things  of  the  past— things  of  the  land  we  have 
left  behind. 

Not  having  a  portable  altar,  we  are  unable 
to  say  Mass.  There  are  more  than  seven  hun- 
dred persons  in  the  steerage,  mostly  Italians 
seeking  "  la  bella  patria  "—their  own  lovely 
homeland.  I  arrange  with  the  captain  to  have 
a  service  for  them  at  3  p.  m.  The  second-class 
saloon  being  too  small,  we  hold  the  service 
under  an  awning  on  the  deck.  Dressed  in 
cassock  and  with  my  rochet  on — for  the  very 
first  time— I  kneel  upon  the  main  hatch  and 
say  aloud  in  Latin  the  Rosary  and  Litany  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  which  they  all  answer  i.i 
the  same  tongue.  These  people,  I  may  re- 
mark by  the  way.  are  all  taught  from  child- 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  VAPLES  113 

hood  to  say  those  prayers  in  the  language  of 
the  Church.     Prayers  over.  I  address  them  a 
few  words  in  Italian,  the  season  and  the  oc 
casion    furnishing  a  theme.      Exiles  are  we 
from  home,   seeking  a   fatherland  afar,   and 
One   has   come  down    from   that    fatherland 
to  raise  us  up  and  to  lead  us  on.    As  we  cross 
the  sea  of  life,  not  always  calm  and  untroubled 
as  the  one  we  sail  to-day.  we  must  pau>e  from 
tmie  to  tmie  to  lift  up  our  eyes  and  fix  them  on 
the  eternal  truths  that  shine  like  stars  upon 
our  pathway.    We  must  prepare  for  the  advent 
of  the   Sun  of  Justice,   and    from  the  lesser 
lights  turn  our  gaze  longingly  to  the  bright 
nionung  Star  that  heralds  His  rising.     Such 
IS  the  sum  of  what  I  said,  but  I  must  own  that 
It  sounds  much  better  in  this  English  summary 
than  It  did  in  such  poor  Italian  as  I  could 
muster. 


December  14. 
At  noon  the  log  reads  : 

Lat.  Long.  Weather  Remarks 

41-34  56.28        Ereshgale:    W    SW 

Dis.  317  SW.  S.  S.  W..  rough 

quarterly  sea. 

Average  Speed:    13.49 


114  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 

We  have  run  into  a  storm,  or  it  has  run  in 
upon  us.    "  Fresh  gale  "  means  a  wind  blow- 
ing 5c  or  60  miles  an  hour.     But  our  ship  is 
very  steady.     Still  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
motion — of  that  queer,  all-round,   uncertain, 
miserable  motion  so  apt  to  induce  sea-sickness. 
My  companion,  though  he  has  been  so  seldom 
to  sea.  is  a  better  sailor  than  I.     As  for  me,  I 
feel  that  I  could  very  easily  be  quite  sick  if  I 
wanted  to.     But  I  don't  want  to,  and  up  to  a 
certain  point  one  can  fight  this  sickness  off. 
My  chief  occupation  all  day  is  fighting  off  sea- 
sickness.    The  wild  winds,  the  wailing  sea- 
V  aves,  the  reeling,  staggering  ship  keep  telling 
me  it  is  of  no  use ;  that  I  had  better  crawl  into 
my  berth  and  give  up  the  uneven  struggle.    But 
I  hold  out  in  spite  of  all  of  them.    As  I  write 
this  in  the  steamer's  library  at  6  p.  m.  the  bat- 
tle is  still  on  and  the  issue  somewhat  doubtful. 


December  15, 

The  battle  is  fought  and  won — thanks  to 
the  abating  of  the  storm  and  a  calmer  sea. 
The  weather  to-day  is  fine  and  warm — 58  de- 
grees in  the  shade.    It  was  68  degrees  yester- 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  115 

day  and  the  mugginess  of  the  atmosphere 
made  ,t  unpleasant.  For  me.  indeed,  it  is 
never  too  pleasant  on  board  ship.  I  have  an 
uneasy  feehng  that  the  n,ost  one  can  hope  for 
IS  a  truce,  and  that  the  battle  with  sea-sickness 
may  have  to  be  fought  over  again  at  any 
moment.  Under  such  circumstances  writing  is 
not  easy. 

The  sea,  the  deep  mysterious  sea,  with  its 
changeful,    elusive    hues    and    its    passionate 
moods!      The    do.ninant    mood.    I    fancy,    is 
melancholy.    The  sea  lifts  up  its  voice  only  to 
weep,  and  every  sea-sound  dies  away  in  a  sob 
or  a  wail.    When  the  crested  waves  break  into 
foam,  what  are  the  spray  drops  but  the  tears 
of  the  salt  sea.'    It  not  only  yields  a  grave  to 
the  countless  millions  that  are  buried  beneath 
Its  waters,  but  weeps  for  them  ever,  and  chants 
over  them  an  unending  requiem.    And  its  lone- 
Imess  IS  beyond  words.     Mid-ocean  seems  the 
native  home  of  solitude— a  solitude  that  the 
passing  ship  leaves  unbroken.     What  a  tale 
this  lonely,  moaning  sea  could  tell  of  the  men 
who  have  sunk  into  its  depths.  "  unknelled,  un- 
coffined.  and  unknown!  "     But  till  it  gives  up 
Its  dead,  that  tale  shall  not  be  told. 


116  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLKS 


Decembhr  i6. 
Late  last  evening  I  sat  talking  m  the  smok- 
ing-room with  a  Protestant  gentleman  from 
Minneapolis.     Some  years  apo  he  visited  the 
Holy  Land,  and  I  was  interested  in  the  account 
he  gave  of  it.    He  dues  not  seem  to  have  been 
much  impressed  by  the  country  itself  or  its 
sanctuaries.    "  The  most  beautiful  sight  I  saw 
in  the  Holy  Land."  he  declared  with  evident 
sincerity-.  "  was  the  face  of  a  nun."    It  was  not 
the  physical,  but  the  spiritual  beauty  of  the 
face  that  struck  him  and  imprinted  itself  upon 
his  memory.     A  beautiful   soul  beamed  out 
from  it— a  soul  made  beautiful  by  close  com- 
munion with  God.    •'  I  will  feed  on  God,"  says 
Alexandrine  in  A  Sister's  Story,  not  knowing 
very  well  at  the  moment  what  she  means.    But 
she  did  feed  on  God.  and  became  beautiful  as 
an  angel,  with  that  beauty  which  never  can 
fade.     If  we  would  be  truly  beautiful  let  us 
feed  on  God  the  Uncreated  Beauty,  ever  an- 
cient and  ever  new. 

•    ♦     * 


FROM  NKW  YORK  TO  XAPLKS  117 


i 


December  17. 
Hou-   shall    we    feed   r,n    God?      First   by 
prayer.      Xot   as   c.miplctelv    is   the   fish    im- 
mersed  in  the  sea  or  the  bird  in  the  air  as 
the  soul   is   in   Co<i.    for   He  is  everywhere, 
and      m  Him  ue  live,  and  move,  and  are  " 
Every  time  uc  hreathc  we  drink  in  the  fresh 
Every  time  we  breathe  we  drink  in  the  fresh 
air  to  renew  the  life  of  the  hodv;  every  time 
we  pray,   if  we  pray  arij^ht.   we  draw  down 
the  grace  of  God  to  -ive  new  life  to  the  soul 
And  as  when  a  man  ceases  to  breathe  we  know 
that  the  life  is  |2:one  out  of  him.  so  when  a  man 
ceases  to  pray  ue  may  know  that  his  soul  is 
dead  within  him.     Hut  ihere  is  anotl^cr.  a  more 
literal  and  yet  more  wondrous  way  of  feeding 
on  God.  and  that  is  Holv  Communion      "  I 
am  the  Bread  of  Life."  and  a-ain.  "  He  who 
eats  Me  shall  also  live  bv  Me."    "  \s  the  hare 
m  winter."  .says  St.  Francis  of  Sales.  "  grow.s 
white  by  feeding?  on  the  snow,  so  the  soul  ^rows 
white  by  feeding  on  this  Heavenly  Manna  " 
T  he  science  may  be  at  fault,  but  the  thought  is 
true.    "  It  IS  the  boast  of  the  Catholic  Church  " 
observes    Cardinal    Xewman.    "that    she   can 
keep  the  young  heart  chaste,  because  she  gives 


118  FKOM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 

Jesus  for  food  and  Mary  for  nursing-mother,** 
I  am  quoting  from  memory,  and  do  not  vouch 
for  the  exact  accuracy  of  the  quotation. 


December  i8. 
Last  night  we  passed  the  first  two  of  the 
Azores.     These   islands   were   discovered   by 
Portuguese  navigators  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  and  still  belong  to  Portugal. 
They  number  nine  in  all,  and  have  a  popula- 
tion of  some  260,000.     About  noon  we  sight 
Pico,  the  third  of  the  group,  and  steam  by  it  for 
hours,  at  a  distance  of  six  or  seven  miles  off. 
Though  we  have  sunshine  at  sea.  it  's  rpJning 
and  misting  ashore,  and  we  fail  to  get  a  good 
view.     However,  I  have  counted  as  many  as 
seven  little  villages  where  the  snow-white  cot- 
tages form  into  clusters  on  the  sloping  shore. 
These  islands  are  of  volcanic  origin,  and  the 
conical  peak  of  an  extinct  volcano  seems  to 
have  given  its  name  to  the  island  we  are  pass- 
ing by.    It  is  visible  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
we  catch  just  a  glimpse  of  it  as  it  peeps  out  of 
a  cloud.     But  it  is  a  ccy  peak  and  hastes  to 
hide  itself  beneath  its  veil  of  mist. 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  119 


December  k). 
T  have  learned  that  the  mountain  we  passed 
yesterrlay  rises  to  a  height  of  7.460  feet,  and 
slopes  to  the  sea  at  an  angle  of  40  rlegrees. 
The  bare  head  of  it.  iipliftetl  al)ove  its  bed  of 
cloud,  and  outlined  against  the  blue  sky,  with 
the  sun  shining  full  upon  it.  is  still  vividly  be- 
fore my  imagination.  Xo  human  eye  wit- 
nessed tile  volcamc  uphcavel  which  cast  this 
mountain  peak  up  into  the  clouds  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  sea.  Hut  Captain  Tillard  of  U. 
M.  S.  "  Sabrina  "  was  eye-witness,  in  181 1,  of 
the  rise  and  e.xtinction  of  an  island  in  the 
neighbourhood,  which  reached  a  height  of  410 
feet  and  was  swallowed  up  by  the  sea  after  an 
existence  of  119  days. 

For  more  than  a  week  we  have  held  our 
lonely  way  on  the  ocean,  no  sail  seen,  no  smoke 
of  steamer  on  the  far  horizon.  The  sea  gulls 
alone  bear  us  company,  whether  the  same  birds 
that  followed  us  from  the  first,  or  fresh  re- 
lays from  the  pastures  of  the  deep,  no  one  can 
tell.  Birds  of  ocean,  foster-children  of  the 
wandering  sea.  their  home  is  on  the  rolling 
wave,  their  haunts  no  man  may  know.  But 
the  same  Providence  that  feeds  the  sparrows 


120  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 


on  the  dry  land  gives  food  to  these  rovers  on 
the  wilderness  of  waters. 


«     *     >» 


December  20. 

Our  second  Sunday  at  sea.  I  say  the 
Rosary  and  Litany  in  the  second  cabin,  where 
there  are  a  number  of  Italians.  I  also  give 
a  short  instruction.  A  wee  mite  of  a  boy.  with 
the  coal  black  hair  and  dark  complexion  of  the 
South,  keeps  eyeing  me  curiously  the  while,  as 
if  wondering  how  one  who  looks  so  little  like 
a  countryman  can  speak  the  language. 

Ever  since  we  got  fairly  away  from  the 
American  coast  we  have  had  summer  weather, 
the  thermometer  ranging  from  50  to  70  de- 
grees. The  temperature  of  the  water  has  been 
even  higher.  One  day  it  was  72  degrees ;  this 
morning  it  was  62.  The  Gulf  Stream  i^  here 
at  its  widest.  Only  the  short  day  can  bring 
home  to  us  the  fact  that  we  are  at  the  winter 
solstice. 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  121 


December  21. 
To-df  V  the  k  rgei  gulls  that  haunt  the  sea- 
shore an  !  I'cst  in  thj  rocks  are  abroad.  They 
are  tokens  that  the  land  is  not  very  far  away. 
Sometime  to-night  we  reach  Gibraltar,  but 
must  lie  outside  till  morning,  for  no  ship  can 
enter  the  port  of  that  grim  fortress  save  in  the 
clay. 

Xow  that  our  ocean  voyage  is  nearing  its 
end.  our  thoughts  turn  back  to  the  loved  ones 
we  have  left  behind.  The  uppermost  feeling 
in  my  own  mind  at  the  moment  is  gratitude, 
first  to  God  for  all  His  goodness,  and  next  to 
the  many  friends,  whether  personally  known  to 
me  or  not,  who  have  so  generously  given  of 
their  means  and  freed  my  mind  from  all  anx- 
iety on  that  score.  I  feel  that  I  owe  them 
more  than  can  be  put  in  words.  May  the  peace 
of  God  and  His  blessing  abide  with  them  al- 
ways, and  may  He,  in  His  own  way  and  in  His 
own  good  time,  repay  them  a  hundredfold. 

This  batch  of  notes  was  mailed  at  Gibraltar. 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 


I 


II 


December  22. 
I  AST  night  we  reached  Gibraltar  and 
dropped  anchor  in  the  bay.    It  was  an 
impressive  sight  when  first  we  came  in 
view  of  land.     On  our  right  lay  Morocco,  on 
our  left  Spain,  and  the  lights  on  either  shore 
became  visible  about  the  same  time.    There  are 
not  many  spots  even  on  this  goodly  globe  of 
ours  where  one  can  see  two  continents.    The 
night  was  lovely,   the  air  almost  I)almy,  the 
stars  were  all  out— ever  so  many  more  stars 
than  can  be  seen  at  home— and  we  stood  long 
on  deck  and  gazed  our  fill  at  the  splendour  of 
the  night.    Truly  the  skies  declare  the  glory  of 
God  and  the  firmament  of  heaven  shows  forth 
the  work  of  His  hands. 

This  morning,  about  8.30,  most  of  the  first- 
class  passengers  landed  in  a  tender.  It  was 
good  to  feel  one's  foot  once  more  on  terra  firma 

122 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  123 

—and  surely  if  there  is  firm  footing  on  earth  it 
is  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar.    The  place  I  will  not 
attempt  to  describe ;  that  were  quite  beyond  me. 
Enough  to  say,  and  certainly  not  too  much, 
that  the  panorama  which  lies  before  one  from 
half-way  up  the  mountain— we  had  not  time  to 
go  all  the  way— is  one  of  the  grandest  that 
anywhere  unfolds  itself  to  the  eye  of  man. 
And  the  city  is  full  of  interest.    Tt  is  the  meet- 
ing-place of  two  continents,  the  free  mart  and 
seaport  of  all  nations,  the  most  famous  strong- 
hold of  the  greatest  empire  under  the  sun.    One 
could  wish  if  one  had  time,  to  study  the  vari- 
ous types  of  humanity  that  gather  here.    By  all 
odds  the  most  striking  is  the  turban'd  Moor, 
with  h-     ,wart  features,  his  impassive  face,  his 
pictu'.  costume,  his  gait  and  carriage' not 

lackm^  .u  dignity.  We  enter  the  prmcipal 
Catholic  Church,  rather  a  fine  building,  and  are 
happily  able  to  assist  at  Mass.  We  see  the 
Bishop  for  a  moment,  an  Italian  Benedictine,  a 
native  of  Siena,  a  ve  y  genial  and  pleasant 
man.  By  eleven  we  are  back  on  board,  and  by 
noon  are  steaming  around  Barracks  Point  and 
entering  the  Mediterranean. 


1«4  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 

December  23. 
We  have  made  our  best  run— 348  knots  from 
noon  yesterday  till  noon  to-day.     Our  ship, 
though  a  splendid  seaboat,  is  not  speedy,  and 
these  two  last  trips  has  fallen  behind  her  sched- 
ule.   .-\n  expert  engineer,  sent  down  especially 
from  London,  has  joined  us  at  Gibraltar,  and 
we  are  now  making  better  time.    Smooth  seas 
sunny  skies,  and  a  summer  temperature  have 
made  this  latter  part  of  our  voyage  extr-mely 
pleasant,  and  yet  we  long  for  its  end.  or  rather 
we  long  to  reach  our  goal.    Several  of  the  pas- 
sengers left  us  at  Gibraltar,  others  joined  us 
there.    It  is  the  way  of  life,  which  is  all  sum- 
med up  m  a  coming  and  a  going  and  a  passing 
away.    In  truth  we  do  but  get  glimpses  of  one 
another  as  we  pass  through  it.     How  short  is 
al  that  comes  to  an  end !    "  We  have  not  here 
a  lastmg  city,  but  seek  one  which  is  to  come  " 


December  24. 
Sardinia's  snowy  mountain  tops  fringing  the 
southern  sky. 

The  line  comes  hack  to  me  from  school  days, 
as  I  gaze  on  those  mountain-tops,  bare  and 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  126 

rugged   and  snowless  to-day.     Sardinia  is  one 
of  the  largest  islands  in  the  Mediterranean     It 
has  a  population  of  more  than  700...00.    Once 
one  of  the  granaries  of  Carthage,  and  later  of 
impenal  Rome,  it  is  now  in  great  part  untilled 
and  barren.     The  natives  are  more  like  Span- 
K.rds  than  Italians,  though  the  island  I)elongs  to 
Jtaly      In  certain  districts  of  the  i.torior  the 
people  speak  the  Latin  tongue,   which  serves 
o  confute  the   received   notion-never  more 
than  a  wretched  half-truth,  and  not  even  as 
rnuch-that  Latin  is  a  dead  language.     What, 
he  language  of  the  Church  Catholic  a  dead 
language !    Not   vhile  she  lives,  and  the  eternal 
years  of  God  are  hers. 

Christmas  at  sea;  Christmas  without  the 
^onted  Christmas  cheer;  Christmas  far  from 
home  and  friends.  But  so  were  Marv  and 
Joseph  on  that  first  Christmas  night  in  Bethle- 
hem, far  from  home  and  friends.  And.  please 
bod.  we  are  going  to  land  in  Naples  to-mor- 
row m  time  to  celebrate  the  Christ-Mass 


1«6  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 


•■ 


December  25. 

Before  daylight  this  Christmas  morning  we 
are  on  deck,  where  we  linger  most  of  the  time 
till  our  ship  is  docked  in  Naples  at  10  a.  m. 
The  approach  to  the  city  from  the  sea  is  very 
grand.  In  the  gray  dawn  we  discern  the  light 
on  Ischia,  which  shows  far  out  at  sea.  As  day 
creeps  on,  the  outline  of  Vesuvius  becomes 
dimly  visible  through  the  morning  haze.  We 
pass  some  islets,  then  Pozzuoli  and  other  sub- 
urbs of  the  queenly  city.  The  sun  is  now  full 
ri.sen ;  't  is 


Morn  on  the  waters,  and  purple  and  bright 

its  light  illuminates  the  lovely  bay,  gilds  the 
heights  of  Sant'  Elmo  and  the  roofs  of  Chiaia. 
which  curves  beneath.  The  docks  and  shipping 
lie  further  on,  and  beyond  them  rises  the  giant 
form  of  dread  Vesuvius.  Little  wonder  that 
lovers  of  panoramic  scenery  go  into  raptures 
over  this  scene.  If  it  is  not  "  See  Naples  and 
die,"  at  any  rate  it  is  "  See  Naples  and  never- 
more forget."  The  words  of  the  well-known 
boat  song  come  unbidden  to  one's  lips: 


l\ 


PROM  NEW  VOKK  TO  NAPLES  1^7 

O  dolce  NapoH ! 

O  suol  beato ! 
Ove  sorridere 

Vuole  il  create; 
Tu  sei  r  impero 
Deir  armonia; 
Santa  Lucia.  Santa  Lucia! 

O  lovely  Naples ! 

Favoured  ground, 
Where  smiling  Nature's 

Charms  abound ; 
The  native  home 
Of  beauty  thou : 
Santa  Lucia,  Santa  Lucia ! 

It  takes  a  deal  of  ceremony  to  get  a  big  ship 
like  ours  docked,  and  a  deal  of  patience  to  wait 
on  an  empty  stomach  for  the  word  to  land.    At 
last  we  are  ashore,  through  the  custom-house. 
and  on  our  way  to  the  Convent  of  the  Soeurs 
de  L'Esperance,    No.    lo  \ia  Santa  Teresa, 
Chiaia.     We  say  Mass  at  11.30  a.  m.  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Teresa  hard  by.  which,  with  the 
adjoining  monastery  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Dis- 
eased Carmelites.    In  the  afternoon  we  take  a 
walk  on  the  esplanade,  which  runs  along  the 


ill 


'In 

h 
i 


128  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 

bay,  visit  the  Aquarium,  mount  the  hill  to  Sant' 
Elmo,  and  from  that  commanding  height  gaze 
upon  the  city,  the  bay,  and  the  broken  ranges  of 
mountains  that  stud  the  coast.  The  native 
band  of  Chiaia,  a  great  but  inharmonious  con- 
cert of  crowing  roosters,  awakens  us  next 
morning  long  before  the  dawn,  and  by  10.30 
we  are  getting  our  last  glimpse  of  cloud-capped 
Vesuvius  from  the  window  of  the  Romeward- 
bound  train. 


December  26. 

The  country  through  which  we  pass  for  the 
first  hour  or  two  after  quitting  Naples  does  not 
yield  in  beauty  or  fertility  even  to  the  plains  of 
Lombardy.  Every  foot  of  it  is  tilled;  the 
tillage  is  intensive  as  well  as  extensive.  Here 
the  vine  is  trailed  on  great  rows  of  trees,  the 
wide  spaces  between  being  now  green  with  all 
manner  of  vegetables,  while  the  stately  Italian 
pine  lends  an  added  grace  and  dignity  to  the 
landscape.  As  we  go  further  north,  the  broad 
plain  narrows  into  valleys  hemmed  in  by  bare 
and  lofty  mountains,  with  here  a  village  cling- 
ing to  a  rocky  slope,  and  there  a  lone  monastery 
crowning  a  rugged  crest.     By  noon  we  reach 


FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES  129 

Casino,  and  presently  admiring  eyes  are  raised 
to  the  giddy  height  where  the  great  abbey  of 
that  name,  famed  in  story,  lords  it  over  all  the 
land. 


As  straws  show  how  the  wind  blows,  so  very 
little  things  serve  oftentimes  to  bring  racial  and 
national  characteristics  into  clear  relief.    Thus 
over  a  plot  of  green  in  the  public  garden  at 
Chiaia.  I  read  these  formidable  words  of  warn- 
ing:   I  TRASGRESSORT  SAR  \NNO  PU- 
NITI  A  NORMA  DI  lAlGGE,  which  may  be 
rendered:      TRESPASSERS     SHALL     BE 
PUNISHED    ro  THE   LIMIT  OE   THE 
LAW.    We  simply  and  bluntly  say :   Keep  ofif 
the  grass!    Again,  a  railway  ticket,  on  which 
with  us  are  sometimes  found  the  words,  Not 
transferable,  bears  here  the  blazoned  legend. 
La  cessione  e  punita  a  termini  di  legge.  that  is 
to  say,  The  transfer  is  pimishable  in  the  precise 
manner  laid  down  in  the  law.     On  the  other 
hand,  the  attempt  of  some  Italian  railwav  offi- 
cial to  ape  your  bluff  Englishman,  in  rendering 
a  notice  graven  in  letters  of  bronze  on  the  win- 
dow of  our  carriage,  E  pericoloso  sporgersi— 
It  is  dangerous  to  put  one's  head  out  of  the 
.window,  comes  to  grief  in  this  ludicrous  fash- 


180  FROM  NEW  YORK  TO  NAPLES 

ion,  similarly  cut  in  bronze,  Don't  stretch  out  I 
Ecco  Roma  f  We  have  finished  our  journey. 
Monday  afternoon  (Dec.  29)  I  saw  Cardinal 
Gotti.  This  (Tuesday),  evening  I  go  on  re- 
treat at  the  Lazarist  Mission  House  near 
Montecitorio,  where  I  made  my  retreat  for  the 
priesthood  twenty-five  years  ago.  Sunday 
(Jan.  3)  is  the  day  fixed  for  the  consecration. 
There  is  a  hastening  of  events,  as  one  chapter 
of  life  firavvs  to  a  close ;  and  hastily  I  dose  this 
last  paragraph. 


!(,1 


■ii.    ! 


FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO. 


Wednesday,  January  20.  1909. 
jE  leave  Rome  by  the  10  a.  w.  express 
and  reach  Naples  at  14.30.     Yestcr- 
<lay  we  came  to  Rome  from  Assisi 
At  Term  I  bouft^ht  a  hmch  basket  which  con- 
tamed  (I)  a  paper  napkin.  (2)  a  knife.  (3)  a 
loaf  of  bread,  (4)  a  cake  of  sweetbread,  (c) 
two  slices  of  meat.  (6)  a  couple  of  slices  of 
sausage.   (7)  salt.   (8)  a  bit  of  chicken,  (g) 
toothpicks.    (10)   a  bottle-  of  wine.   (11)   an 
orange.  ( 12)  a  piece  of  cheese.  ( 13)  some  wal- 
nuts-all for  two  francs.     J  question  whether 
there  is  any  other  country  in  the  world  where 
you   could   buy  so  much    food    for  so   little 
money. 

A  facchino.  or  railway  porter,  at  Naples, 
plays  us  a  scurvy  trick.  We  hand  him  over 
our  luggage  at  the  station,  and  tell  him  we 
want  to  get  a  carriage  to  take  us  on  board 
the  Regina  Margherita.  After  a  moment's 
thought,  he  tells  us  it  is  but  two  minutes'  walk 
and  he  will  take  us  on  board  for  four  fianc^ 

181 


18«        FROI^f  NAPLKS  TO  CAIRO 

which  we  think  rather  too  much,  hut  agree  to 
give.     lie  leads  us  along  dirty  streets  for  at 
It-ast  ten  minutes,  and  fetches  up  finally  at  a 
landing  place,  where  he  and  sundry  hoatmen 
engage  in  a  war  of  words,  to  which  vehement 
gesticulations  lend  a  sanguinary  aspect— all  cal- 
culated to  impress  us  with  the  dimcttlty  of  get- 
ting to  our  .steamer.     Presently  he  motions  us 
to  step  into  one  of  the  Ix.als.  which  we.  in  our 
innocence,  do  in  fear  and  trembling,  while  he 
quickly  makes  off.     lint  the  boatman  will  not 
budge  till  we  have  paid  him  four  francs.    Then 
he  quietly  rows  us  round  a  ship,  and  i\p  to  a 
dock,  where,  to  our  <^iirpri.sc  and  crrcat  disgust. 
we    behold    our    Rcgina    ^rargherita    cosily 
moored!     Two  N'eapolitan  ragamuffins  extort 
further  tribute  for  carrying  our  trai)s  on  board. 
"  For  ways  that  are  dark  and  tricks  that  are- 
vain  "  seems  hardly  the  word,  and  I  leave  the 
reader  to  finish  the  sentence. 


Thursday,  January  21. 
We  awake  this  morning  in  the  Strait  of 
Messina,  scene  of  the  late  frightful  catastrophe. 
On  our  right,  but  at  some  distance,  is  the  city 


FROM  NAIT.KS  TO  CAIUO         VM 

of  that  name.  n,uc  fair  as  fou  citi.s  arc.  „ow 
a  corpse,  torn  an.l  clisfi^n.rod.  with  ilu-  lidit  of 
I'fe^oneontof  it.     Farther  np  the  Strait.  ..n 
our  left.  ,.s  ruined  Rcirffio.    At  a  first  glance  the 
n.nis  are  not  seen.  I.nt  closer  scrutiny,  with  the 
help  of  a  pair  „(  ^.lasses,  reveals  them      One 
very  lar^e  I,„i!.hn,r  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
town  ,s  still  on  its  feet.     In  n,any  cases  the 
v^alls  are  left  sUnuhu^r.  unite  witnesses  of  ,he 
mm  within  an.l  without,     F  eannot  <liscern  a 
s.ngle    church    tower    or    steeple    in    all    the 
str,cken  cty.     By  ten  o'clock  we  are  off  Cape 
Spart.vento    rSpIif-thc-win<l ).   the  toe  of  the 
Itahan  hoot,  an.l  hy  twelve  the  !  tst  of  the  tall 
'■lis  of  Southern  Italy  has  faded  awav  on  the 
horizon. 

Great  is  Italian  reverence  for  that  which  has 
^een  and  ,s.  an  admiral.lc  sentin-.ent  in  its  wav 
but  one  which  tends  to  conserve  in  beine 
thm^s  that  are  aiul  .ni.^^ht  not  to  he.  I-or  ex- 
ample I  was  awakened  this  morning  at  five 
o  clock  by  a  rattling  noise  which  I  took  to  be 
due   to   some   iron    fastening   having   become 


Ioo.se.     I  .roped  my  way  on  deck,  but  <  ould 


nothing.    Meet 

him   what   made  the 

't  is  the  slceriiifT- 


see 


ing  one  of  the  stewards,  I  asked 


noise. 


E   il 


g-gcar."  he  made 


temon 
:insw( 


and 


184        FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO 

suggested  that  I  could  get  a  room  on  the  lower 
deck  where  the  noise   would  not  be  heard 
Going  on   deck  after  daylight   I   found  the 
clatter  was  caused  by  a  bolt,  which  kept  the 
rod  of  the  steering-gear  in  place,  having  too 
much  play.    The  ship's  smith  was  busied  hard 
by  with  mending  a  windlass,  and  I  drew  his  at- 
tention to  the  matter.     He  eyed  me  in  mild 
wonderment,  and  with  a  characteristic  shrug 
of  the  shoulders,  said.  "  E  sempre  stato  cosi- 
It  has  always  been  like  that."     So  there  you 
are!    Hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  passengers 
have  been  robbed  of  their  sleep  by  the  clatter 
of  this  bolt,  but  what  of  that?    The  nuisance 
must  go  unabated,  because-E  sempre  stato 
cosi ! 

P.  S.  I  must  set  on  record  the  fact  that 
the  thing  has  since  been  remedied:  for  the 
future,  passengers  in  stateroom  No—  of  the 
Regina  Margherita  may  rest  in  peace  ' 


Friday,  January  22. 
All  the  afternoon  we  are  chased  by  a  thun- 
derstorm.  but  manage  to  keep  ahead  of  it     We 
do,  however,  get  the  wind  that  goes  with  it 
and  there  is  a  deal  of  motion  in  the  ship,  and 


FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO        185 

a  deal  of  squeamishness  in  certain  stomachs. 
By  eight  o  dock  we  have  left  the  storm  be- 
hind, and  by  ten  have  abeam  the  light  on  a 
little  island  off  Crete,  or  Candia,  as  it  is  also 
called.     We  think  of  St.  Paul  and  the  hard- 
ships he  endured  along  this  coast  while  he  was 
on  h,s  way  to  Rome.    Tl,e  Cretans  of  his  time 
seem  to  have  been  a  pretty  bad  lot,   for  he 
ates  "  a  prophet  of  their  own  "  as  saying  that 
they  were  "  always  liars,  wicked  brutes,  lazy 
belbes.     and  vouches  for  the  truth  of  the  in- 
dictment.    But  there  must  have  been   some 
good  ones  among  thon.  for  he  made  many  con- 
verts there,  and  gave  his  beloved  discipleTitus 
to  be  their  f   .   Bishop. 


Saturday.  January  2^. 
I've  had  an  interesting  talk  with  two  Fran- 
ciscan Fathers,  one  the  Visitor-General  of  the 
Order,  the  other  the  well-known  American  au- 
thor. Paschal  Robinson.  VVe  are  now  within 
ten  hours'  sail  of  Egypt-Egypt  old  in  story,  of 
which  the  Sphinx  is  fitting  emblem,  land  of 
many  riddles  yet  unsolved.  We  shall  reach 
there  before  dawn  to-morrow. 


r: 


if 


136        FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO 

Wednesday,  January  27, 

Back  on  board  the  Regina  Margherita,  and 
on  the  way  to  Jaffa  (Joppa).  Early  Sunday 
morning  we  land  at  Alexandria,  say  Mass  in 
the  Franciscan  Church  there,  and  at  11  a.  m. 
take  the  train  for  Cairo,  which  we  reach 
some  three  hours  later.  The  distance  is  about 
140  miles.  We  are  traversing  perhaps  the 
most  fertile  tract  of  country  in  the  world, 
along  the  delta  of  the  Nile.  It  is  one  vast 
plain  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  from  edge 
to  edge  of  the  horizon,  green  with  growing 
crops  of  wheat  and  cotton.  On  all  sides  are 
groves  of  acacias  and  lines  of  stately  palm, 
while  long  caravans  of  camels,  passing  parallel 
to  the  line  of  railway,  lend  an  added  pictur- 
esqueness  to  the  landscape.  Egypt,  to  the  in- 
tellect a  land  of  mystery,  is  to  the  eye  a  land 
of  beauty — land  of  the  evergreen.  And  yet 
one  misses  the  snow-capped  mountains  which 
make  of  Italy,  and  still  more  of  Switzerland, 
a  fairyland  of  romance.  Here  it  is  always 
summer,  and  the  crops  keep  growing  perenni- 
ally; as  many  as  four  crops  are  raised  in  the 
year.  Little  rain  falls,  and  the  tiller  of  the 
soil  would  wish  it  were  less  than  that  little, 


FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO        1S7 

for  the  waters  of  the  Nile  irrigate  the  land, 
and  it  is  the  hot  sun  out  of  a  cloudless  sky  that 
favours  growth.  I  have  said  the  tiller  of  the 
soil  when  I  should  have  rather  said  the  owner, 
who  is  generally  a  Jew  or  a  Turk.  Your  Arab 
Fellah  gets  his  pittance  of  four  piastres  (about 
twenty  cents)  a  day,  and  is  better  off  with  that 
than  he  was  before  the  English  came  in,  when 
the  Khedive  sent  his  servants  to  take  heavy 
toll  of  the  ripened  crops. 

The  Arab  subdued  the  Copt,  lineal  descen- 
dant of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  and  was  in  turn 
subdued  by  the  Turk.  He  is  a  picturesque 
figure,  with  his  white  turban  or  red  fez,  his 
flowing  robes,  his  sandalled,  oftentimes  bare, 
feet.  The  women  are  veiled  up  to  the  eyes, 
with  a  curious  covering  on  the  nose,  which 
seems  to  serve  no  particular  purpose  and  is 
certainly  not  an  ornament.  The  young  of  the 
male  sex  are  for  the  most  part  of  a  pleasing 
appearance.  But  with  advancing  years  the 
features  of  these  people  take  on  a  hard  and 
somewhat  repulsive  look,  half  of  submission. 
half  of  hopelessness,  not  unlike  that  which  one 
sees  in  the  eyes  of  that  much  abused  beast  of 
burden,  the  ass.  which  for  six  decades  of  cen- 
turies has  borne  the  whips  and  scorns  of  his 


I 


ifll 


I       ! 
!■!     liil 


I' 


il, : 


41 


188        FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO 

master,  man.     It  is  the  fatalism  of  the  race 
that  finds  expression  in  that  look— the  feeling 
that  it  is  of  no  use  kicking  against  the  pricks 
of  a  relentless  destiny.    And  so  the  Arab  goes 
his  way,    bearing   the   burden   of   life   sadly 
but   submissively.      His   whole   philosophy   is 
summed  up  in  the  one  word  malesh  (a  as  in 
**  ma,"  e  as  in  "  edge,"  both  vowels  long  drawn 
out,)  which  is  forever  on  his  lips :    "  It  doesn't 
matter" — nothing  matters  in  a  world  where 
so  much  is  amiss  and  so  little  can  be  mended. 
We  spend  two  days  in  Cairo,  during  which 
we  visit  Matarieh,  Old  Cairo,  the  citadel  and 
famous  mosque  of  alabaster,  the  museum  with 
its  mummies,  and  the  pyramids.    At  Matarieh 
is  the  well  of  sweet  water  which  gushed  forth, 
tradition  has  it.  when  the  Holy  Family  came 
into  Egypt,  and  the  sycamore  which  gave  them 
shelter.     The  present  tree  is  more  than  three 
hundred  years  old.    At  Old  Cairo  is  shown  the 
site  of  the  cottage  in  which  dwelt  the  Holy 
Family.   It  is  in  the  crypt  of  an  ancient  basilica, 
the  style  of  which  bespeaks  the  fifth  or  sixth 
century.    The  place  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Schis- 
matical   Copts;   it  was   the  daughter  of  the 
Coptic  priest  who  unlocked  the  door  for  us. 
In  Old  Cairo  one  sees  the  Arab  in  the  primeval 


m 


FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO        139 

environment  of  the  unchanging  East.     All  is 
primitive    here.      Bedouin    and    Jew,    camel, 
donkey,  and  goat  move  along  pell-mell,  jos- 
tling one  another  in  the  narrow,  crooked,  foul- 
smelling  streets.    I  would  not  advise  a  visit  to 
the  market-place  just  before  dinner— it  might 
spoil  one's  appetite.    There  is  some  very  ancient 
dirt  in  Old  Cairo — and  some  that  is  not  so  an- 
cient.    Newman  says  somewhere  that  no  dirt 
is  immortal,  but  he  is  speaking  of  another  sort 
of  dirt,  and,  anyhow,  he  never  set  foot  in  this 
Egyptian  town,  laved  but  washed  not  by  the 
waters  of  the  Nile. 

In  striking  contrast  to  the  lowly  ass,  is  that 
other  beast  of  burden,  the  lordly  camel.  With 
what  lofty  disdain  it  sniflFs  the  air  as  it  looks 
down  upon  its  mean  environment— pigmy  man 
mcluded.  It  is  a  proud  creature— proud  even 
of  the  hump  on  its  back.  It  has  been  tamed 
by  man  after  a  fashion,  but  not  subdued,  and 
its  eyes  belie  the  obedience  that  it  outwardly 
yields  to  its  puny  master. 


Rome,  March  9,  1909. 
We  returned   from  the  East  a  couple  of 
weeks  ago,  and  are  now  getting  ready  to  leave 


140        FROM  NAPLES  TO  CAIRO 


for  home.  We  are  to  sail  from  Southampton 
for  New  York  on  the  31st.  Of  our  visit  to  the 
Holy  Land  I  write  nothing  now ;  I  may  later, 
but  life  is  uncertain.  Of  Egypt  I  might  have 
written  more,  but  my  notes  are  lost,  as  ill  luck 
^ould  have  it,  and  I  write  from  memory. 
Had  not  those  notes  been  lost — in  some  such 
way  we  used  to  put  it  in  boyhood's  days  when 
spinning  sgialachan  by  the  fireside — this  letter 
had  been  longer. 


m 


THROUGH  SPAIN. 


WO  things  led  me  to  leave  the  "  Sax- 
onia "     at     Gibraltar,     and     journey 
through    the     Spanish     peninsula.     I 
wanted  to  go  to  Lourdes,  and  I  wanted  to 
drink  in  the  memories  of  St.  Teresa,  Spain's 
chief  est    glory,    at    the    fountain-head.      At 
Algeciras,  right  across  from  Gibraltar,  I  set 
foot  for  the  first  time  on  the  soil  of  Spain.  The 
train  for  Ronda  was  waiting,  and  I  stepped 
on    board.      The     railway     passes     through 
a   wild,    mountainous   region,    rich   in   traces 
of    the    Moorish    occupation.     At    Ronda    T 
said   Mass   in   the  chapel  of  the  Little  Sis- 
ters of  the   Poor.     One  of  the  Sisters  was 
from  Dumfries,  in  Scotland,  and  one  from  our 
own  Quebec.     I  asked  them  how  they  came  to 
be  in  Ronda.  and  they  said  they  were  like 
soldiers  and  had  to  go  where  they  were  sent. 
The    Little    Sisters    have    their    houses    and 
do   their   Christlike   work   in   many  parts  of 
the   world.      Wherever  the   Catholic   Church 

141 


ui 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


ll 


is,  where  the  Cross  of  Christ  points  heaven- 
ward, there  they  are  at  home. 


Andalusia  comprises  the  four  old  Moorish 
Kingdoms  of  Jaen,  Seville,  Granada,  and 
Cordova.  It  is  the  most  fascinating  province 
of  Spain.  The  scenic  beauty  of  mountain 
and  valley  soothes  the  mind,  while  the  soft 
languorous  climate  steeps  the  senses  in  rei)()se. 
To  th"  voluptuous  Mohammedan  Andalusia 
was  well  worth  fighting  for.  .\nd  long  he 
fought  and  fiercely  ere  he  gave  it  back  finally 

to  the  sons  of  Spain. 

*     ♦     * 

The  region  from  Ronda  to  Seville  is  wonder- 
fully fertile.  So  indeed  is  nearly  the  whole  of 
Spain — land  of  the  vine  and  the  olive,  land  of 
com  and  wheat,  land  of  clear  blue  skies  and 
brilliant  sun.  Seville,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Guadalquiver,  is  a  city  of  great  interest,  pos- 
sessing a  wealth  of  historical  associations. 
It  has  passed  through  many  vicissitudes  from 
the  time  of  the  Romans  down.  The  long  dom- 
ination of  the  Moors  has  stamped  an  oriental 
character  upon  it.    I  said  Mass  at  the  Convent 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


148 


of  the  Institute  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary, 
founded  by  the   famous   Mary   Ward.     The 
Sisters  are  commonly  known  as  the  Loreto 
Nuns,    and    in    Spain    as    "  Las    Madres    Ir- 
liindesas.""    They  teach  a  day  school  in  Seville, 
and  have  a  Ixjanlinjj  school  outside  the  city.     I 
met  one  who  said  she  was  connected  hy  ties  of 
kinshij)  with  the  family  o(  St.  Teresa.     She 
wrote  for  me  in  Spanish  a  sayinj?  of  the  saint, 
which  shows  she  was  human  enough  to  hate 
Seville   because   it   was   so   hot :      "  Whoever 
suffers  the  heat  of  Seville  with  patience  ha.s 
done  penance  enough."     It  seems  a  pity  the 
human  element  should  have  been  almost  w'holly 
eliminated  from  our  Lives  of  the  Saints.    The 
run  of  those  that  have  come  down  to  us,  es- 
pecially from  medineval  times,  are  little  more 
than  an  abstract  of  the  heroic  virtues  practised 
by  the  saints  and  the  miracles  performed  by 
them.     The  servants  of  God  are  set  up  on  a 
pedestal  so  high  and  so  far  away  that  we  feel 
as  if  we  could  never  hope  to  get  near  to  them 
at  all.    And  yet  they  had  their  humai  side,  to 
us  intensely  interesting,  for.  to  apply  n  a  good 
sense  what  was  first  written  disparaj;ingly. 

One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kio- 

*      ♦       ♦ 


144 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


i 


At  Seville  I  visited  the  monastery  of  Dis- 
calced  Carmelites  founded  by  St  Teresa.  The 
present  one  was  built  by  St.  John  of  the  Cross 
in  a  difTerent  locality  from  that  of  the  original 
monastery,  because  the  situation  of  this  latter 
one  was  found  to  l)e  unhealthy.  Over  the 
grille  is  a  wooden  cross  erected  by  Si.  John, 
the  faithful  co-worker  of  St.  Teresa,  a  man  of 
lofty  spirit  kindred  to  her  own.  I  was  shown 
an  autograph  letter  of  his.  bearing  date  March 
28,  1586.  The  handwriting  is  very  legible. 
Of  St.  Teresa's  own  relics  there  are  the  fol- 
lowing: (i)  an  autograph  letter,  signed 
"  Teresa  of  Jesus,"  the  name  being  spelled 
as  written,  not  "  Theresa,"  which  follows  the 
French  "  Therese;  "  (2)  a  bit  of  the  hair  shirt 
worn  by  the  sain*;  (3)  a  medicine  bottle  used 
by  her  in  her  last  illness — which  shows  her  to 
have  been  human  to  the  end;  (4)  a  lar-  white 
woolen  mantle  that  she  wore,  the  r  itle  of 
her  Order;  (5)  one  of  her  slipper,  now  so 
richly  embroidered  that  the  original  cannot  l)e 
seen;  (6)  last  and  far  the  most  signal  relic  of 
all,  the  autograph  original  of  the  Interior 
Castle,  or  Castle  of  the  Soul,  perhaps  her 
greatest  work.    The  handwriting  is  somewhat 


throi:gh  spai.v  ,45 

peculiar,  and  the  text  not  easily  read,  because 
m   many   cases   the   syllables   are   separated 
1  his  priceless  autoprapb  is  in  an  excellent  state 
of  preservation,  bound  with  heavy  plates  of 
gold.     It  came  into  possession  of  the  monas- 
tery.  the  nuns  told  nie.  through  one  of  the  first 
novices  of  the  community,  her  father,  a  gentle- 
man of  high  social  standing,  having  received 
It  from  a  Carmelite  priest  who  was  intimate 
in  life  with  St.  Teresa. 


The  Father  Prior  of  the  Discalced  Carmel- 
ites at  Seville,  who  speaks  English  well,  having 
spent  some  years  in  England  as  a  missionary 
gave  me  i  story  handed  down  bv  tradition  in 
the  Carmelite  0-der.     It  shows'  at  once  the 
terms  of  loving  familiarity  on  which  St.  Teresa 
lived  with  Our  Lord  and  her  ready  wit      The 
convent  at  Burgos,  in  the  north  of  Spain,  was 
her  last  foundation.    She  feared  to  go  there  in 
mid-winter  because  of  the  cold,  but  Our  Lord 
reminded  her  that  He  was  tlie  source  of  all 
warmth.     The  roads  being  all  but  impassable, 
she  and  her  companions  suflFered  great  hard- 
ships, and  at  one  place  were  nearly  drowned  in 


146 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


the  waters  of  a  stream  that  had  overflowed  it» 
banks.  Gently  complaining  to  her  Divine 
Spouse,  she  was  told  that  these  were  favours 
He  reserved  for  His  friends.  "  That,'"  she  re- 
joined. "  is  why  your  friends  are  so  few ! " 
"  She  was  very  saucy  with  Him,"  said  an  Irish 
nun  at  Madrid,  on  my  r  citing  this  story. 
The  playful  sallv  finds  its  proper  setting  and 
balance  in  tho  •  t>ther  words  of  the  saint  that 
we  read  in  her  Foundations,  ch.  xxxi :  "  O 
my  Lord,  how  true  it  is  that  you  repay  with  a 
cross  those  who  do  you  a  service!  But  what 
an  inestimal)le  treasure  that  cross  is  to  those 
who  truly  love  you.  were  it  but  given  them  at 
once  to  realize  its  value !  And  yet,  they  would 
not  have  sought  to  possess  themselves  of  the 
treasure,  the  price  to  be  paid  seeming  at  the 
moment  too  great."  So  hard  is  it  for  us  to 
bear  what  presses  here  and  now  upon  us,  even 
when  we  are  quite  persuaded  that  every  trial 
is  a  crucible  for  the  minting  of  heaven's  gold. 

4i       41      * 


I  did  but  pass  through  Madrid  on  my  way 
to  Avila.  The  city  is  modern,  having  none  of 
the  quaintness  of  other  Spanish  towns.     The 


TIIKOIGH  SPAIN 


147 


Loreto  Xuns  have  a  convent  and  school  in  the 
outskirts.  Even  the  little  tots  must  speak  Knjj- 
Iisli.  A  crnirse  at  this  convent  is  jjreatly  de- 
sired for  their  daii^^diters  l.y  Spanish  mothers 
sitice  Princess  X'ictoria  cartie  to  j,liare  with 
Alfonso  the  throne  of  Spain. 


Alioiit  midway  hetvveen  Madrid  and    \vi|a, 
with  great  rid^t's  ..t  rock  al)ove  and  around  it.' 
•stands   the   palace  of   the    i'.scorial.    built    hy 
Philip  the  Second,  husband  >^i  Marv  Tudor 
It  compares  with  the  pyramifls  of   Kgyin   in 
size  and  soIidit>       It   is  at  once  a  palace,  a 
monastery,  a  church,  a.id  a  mausoleum.     There 
are  not  in  all  the  world  more  jjor^cou,  tombs 
than  those  that  here  enclo.c  the  ashes  of  the 
kings  and  .|ueens  of  Spain.     I,,  the  treasury  of 
the  monastery  I  saw  the  little  statue  .--'the 
Blessed  Virgin  before  which  Pope  St.  I'uis  V 
!)rayed  during  the  battle  of  Lepanto.     Queon 
Khzabeth   IT  has  decked  it   with  a  crown  o» 
hrdhants.     In  the  library,  among  mauiscipt, 
of  priceless  value,  are  four  of  the  autograp! 
writings  of  St.  Teresa,  the  Rook  of  the  Fn-.m- 
dations,  the  Manner  of  Visiting  Convents,  the 


148 


THROUGH   SPAIN 


Way  of  Perfection,  and  the  Life  by  herself. 
All  these  were  collected,  not  without  difficulty, 
by  the  royal  founder  of  the  Escorial,  who  died 
sixteen  years  after  St.  Teresa,  in  1598. 
*     Ai     * 


Avila,    famed  evermore   as   the   birthplace 
and  home  of  St.   Teresa,   is  situated  in  the 
centre  of  the  province  of  that  name,  west  of 
Segovia  and  south  of  Valladolid.    The  hill  on 
which  it  stands  ri.ses  out  of  an  undulating  coun- 
try to  the  north,  and,  on  the  south,  overlooks 
a  broad  plain  which  stretches  away  almost  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  see  to  a  range  of  mountains 
known  as  the  Sierras  of  Avila.     The  waters 
of  the  Adaja  river  bathe  the  foot  of  the  cliflFs 
to  the  west.    On  the  southwestern  slope  of  the 
hill,  facing  the  wide  extent  of  meadow  land  and 
the  distant   mountains,   stands  the  old  home 
of  St.  Teresa,  enclosed  within  a  Dominican 
monastery.      Here   one   is   shown   the    room 
where  she  was  born,  now  a  chapel  in  which  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  is  kept.     Here  also,  but 
some  feet  under  the  ground— for  old  things 
have  a  way  of  sinking  into  the  earth—,  is  the 
little  garden  where,  a  child  of  seven,  she  played 


THROUGH  SPAIN  149 

at  being  a  nun.  and  with  her  brother,  four 
years  her  senior  planned  to  seek  the  crown  of 
martyrdom  among  the  Moors.  *'  We  settled  " 
she  tells  us,  "  to  go  together  to  the  country  of 
the  Moors,  begging  our  way  there  for  the  love 
ot  God.  that  we  might  be  beheaded  there  - 
I  ran  away."  was  the  naive  excuse  precocious 
piety  gave  her  mother.  "  because  I  wanted  to 

dying''       '""^   '"'   '""""'   ^°   '^''   ^^ith«"t 

*     *     * 


Avda  .3  httle  changed  since  Teresa  de 
Ahmr.da  and  Rodriquez  de  Cepeda  stole 
softly  along  ,ts  c  bbled  streets  and  left  its  lofty 
portals  behind,  m  the  gray  dawn  of  that  sum- 
mer  s  day.  some  four  hundred  >  ears  ago  The 
stones  smce  woni  by  many  feet,  are  the  same 
«^at  they  trod;  the  stout  walls  that  defied 
Moorish  assault  still  look  proudly  down  upon 
the  stranger  that  enters  at  the  gate.     Out- 

whth  r"'    ""    *"^    ^^''^'-'^    houses 

which  are  fragrant  with  the  memories  of  St 

other  the  Monastery  of  the  Incarnation      The 
latter  stands  on  a  hill  a  few  hundred  yards  to 


m 


150 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


the  north  of  the  town.  There  Teresa  first 
made  her  vows,  and  there  she  Hved  for  twenty- 
seven  years,  three  of  which  she  was  Prioress. 
Among  her  reHcs  there  are  ( i )  a  Httle  water 
jug,  (2)  a  crucifix  borne  by  her  when  she  went 
forth  to  found  new  convents,  (3)  the  key  of 
her  cell,  (4)  a  document  concerning  the  dowrv 
of  a  religious,  signed  by  the  saint  and  the  four 
nuns  who  established  with  her  the  new  foun- 
dation. I  sat  in  the  chair,  by  the  side  of  the 
grille,  where  St.  Peter  of  Alcantara  and  St 
Francis  Borgia  conversed  with  her  on  spiritual 
subjects.  It  was  there  that  a  nun,  happening 
along  one  day,  found  herself  and  St.  John  of 
the  Cross  raised  above  the  ground  in  an  ecstasy 
of  contemplation.  The  quick-witted  Teresa 
put  it  all  on  her  companion.  "  See,"  she  said, 
"  what  comes  of  talking  with  Father  John !  " 
*     *     ♦ 

St.  Joseph's  of  Avila.  now  known  as  the 
Convent  of  St.  Teresa,  is  on  the  east  side,  just 
outside  the  walls,  but  within  the  town  limits. 
It  was  the  saint's  first  foundation,  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Reform.  Here  are  several 
relics,  among  others  a  tambourine  on  which 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


151 


the  saint  used   to  play.     Her  body  lies   in- 
corrupt   at    Alba    de    Tormes.     where    she 
died.    The  morning  I  went  to  say  Mass  at  St. 
Joseph's,  I  was  accompanied  by  two  lilnglish 
ladies,  a  mother  and  daughter,  Anglicans  both. 
very  High  Church,  and  very  much  interested 
in  all  that  related  to  St.  Teresa.     They  knelt 
to  the  Blessed  Sacrament  on  entering,  and  as- 
sisted at  Mass  with  every  mark  of  devotion. 
We  afterwards  spoke  with  the  nuns  at  the 
grating.     They  showed  us  the  relics  of  their 
holy  foundress,  and  bade  us  be  sure  to  visit 
the  chapel  built  by  her  in  connection  with  her 
first  foundation.     I  had  told  the  mother  the 
night  before  of  the  sweet  odor   I  perceived 
when,  at  the  Escorial.  the  Augustinian  Father 
had  opened  the  glass  case  that  contained  the 
four  autograph  writings  of  St.  Teresa.    Just  as 
we  entered  the  chapel  I   felt  the  same  sweet 
odor,  and  asked  the  mother  if  she  perceived  it. 
"Yes,"   she   said,   "but   it   is  a  very  elusive 
odor."    A  nun  at  Seville  had  spoken  to  me  of 
the  odor  exhaled  by  the  relics  of  the  saint, 
and  had  said  that  some  perceived  it  but  others 
didn't,    and    that    even    to    the    same    person 
it  was  perceptible  at   times,  at  other  times 


152 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


not.  It  seemed  to  me  something  like  the  odor 
of  incense,  and  yet  I  am  quite  sure  it  was  not 
that.  I  was  much  impressed  with  the  fact  that 
it  was  the  self-same  odor  I  perceived  in  those 
two  widely  distant  places. 

He       *        * 


At  the  hotel  in  Avila  I  met  an  American 
lady  who  had  not  visited  her  native  land  in  five 
years.  She  was  so  takci  with  Europe,  she 
said,  that  she  thought  she  should  never  cross 
the  Atlantic  again.  Perhaps  the  recent  terrible 
happenings  may  have  made  her  change  her 
mind.  The  conversation  turning  on  St.  Te- 
resa, I  said  I  looked  upon  her  as  being,  after 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  greatest  woman  saint 
that  ever  lived.  My  American  friend  believed 
she  must  yield  the  palm  to  St.  Catherine  of 
Siena.  And  truly  the  latter  may  contest  the 
palm  in  the  outer  world  of  action.  But  I  was 
thinking  rather  of  the  inner  world  of  the 
spirit,  where  piety  rears  "  a  building 
of  God,  a  house  not  made  with  hands." 
No  one  has  thrown  clearer  or  more 
copious  light  upon  the  things  of  that  inner 
world   than  the   author   of  "  The  Way  of 


\M 


THROUGH  SPAIN  153 

Perfection "  and  "  The  Castle  of  the  Soul." 
For  the  rest.  *'  star  dififers  from  star  in  bright- 
ness," and  it  is  not  for  us,  short-sighted  and 
dim  of  vision  as  we  are,  to  say  which  shines 
with  the  greatest  lustre.     Stars  there  are.  too, 
in  the  firmament  of  the  Church  that  have  never 
swum  into  our  ken.    We  shall  see  them  when 
we  have  passed  hence,  even  as  those  who  pass 
to  the  other  side  of  the  globe  behold  the  South- 
em  Cross.— Mrs.  Hemans's  lines  on  that  bril- 
liant constellation  come  to  one  unbidden :  they 
are  put  in  the  mouth  of  some  son  or  daughter 
of  Spain : 

Thou  recallest  the  ages  when  first  o'er  the  main 
My  fathers  unfolded  the  ensign  of  Spain. 
And  planted  their  faith  in  the  regions  that  see 
Its  unperishing  symbol  emblazoned  in  thee. 

Shine  on— my  own  land  is  a  far  distant  spot. 
And  the  stars  of  thy  sphere  can  enlighten' it 
not, 

And  the  eyes  thai  I  love,  though  e'en  now  they 
may  be 

O'er  the  firmament  wandering,  can  gaze  not 
on  thee ! 

*      *      4i 


104 


THROUGH  SPAIN 


On  leaving  Avila  I  visited  Valladolid.  To 
me  the  most  interesting  place  there  was  the 
Scots  College,  once  a  home  of  the  Jesuits  and 
their  house  of  studies  in  the  days  of  the  great 
Suarez.  Here  many  of  the  men  who  kept  the 
torch  of  faith  burning  in  the  Scottish  High- 
lands during  the  dark  night  of  persecution  re- 
ceived their  education  for  the  priesthood.  The 
Very  Reverend  Alexander  MacDonald,  V.  G., 
who  died  at  Mabon,  Cape  Breton,  in  1865.  left 
Valladolid  for  Lismore,  Scotland,  in  1816,  as 
the  college  records  bear  witness.  It  was  from 
him  I  got  in  baptism  the  light  of  faith. 


I  slept  at  San  Sebastian  on  my  way  to 
Lourdes.  Of  my  visit  to  that  famous  shrine  I 
write  elsewhere. 


LOURDES  REVISITED. 


Victoria,  B.  C,  August,  19 14. 
visited  Lourdes  again  in  May  of  the 
present  year.    Much  water  had  passed 
under  tlie  old  stone  bridge  that  spans 
the  Gave  since  last  I  gazed  on  that  swirling 
stream,  and  listened  to  the  hoarse  music  of  its 
voice.     Lourdes  has  grown  a  great  deal   in 
these  fourteen  years.    The  old  town  has  wid- 
ened its  bounds  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river, 
and  on  the  left  the  low  meadow  land  is  covered 
with  shops  and  hotels.    These,  indeed,  may  be 
said  to  make  up  the  town.     In  the  shops,  as  I 
also  noted  when  last  I  was  there,  the  wares 
are  almost  wholly  of  a  devotional  character— 
a  fact  that  gave  rise  to  the  following  incident. 
The  joke  that  gives  it  point  is  at  mv  own  ex- 
pense. 

I  left  my  soap  at  Saint  Sebastian,  the  last 
town  in  Spain  ere  you  cross  into  France. 
It  may  be  needful  to  tell  the  reader  that  the 
traveller  in  Europe  has  to  carry  his  own  soap. 

166 


'     ! 


106 


LOURDES  REVISITED 


T  wanted  to  buy  that  necessary  article  in 
I.oiirdcs.  but  did  not  know  where  to  get  it. 
The  stores  that  lined  the  streets  on  either  side 
seemed  to  offer  nothing  but  beads,  medals,  stat- 
ues, etc.  What  was  worse,  I  could  not  for  the 
life  of  me  recall  the  French  word  for  soap.  I 
tried  to  get  at  it  through  the  Italian  "  sapone." 
Cutting  off  the  final  vowel,  I  entered  the  near- 
est store,  and  boldly  asked  for  "  sapon."  The 
salesmaid  at  first  looked  puzzled.  But  on  my 
repeating  the  order,  her  face  broke  into  a 
smile  of  comprehension.  Quickly  she  sped  to 
a  c(jrner  of  the  store,  and  thence  brought  me 
a  tiny  statue  of  St.  Paul !  "  Sapon."  no  doubt, 
sounded  more  like  "  Saint  Pol  '*  than  like  the 
elusive  "  savon  "  that  I  had  tried  in  vain  to  get 
hold  of.  Going  into  another  shop,  where  a  win- 
dow bore  the  legend  "  English  and  German 
spoken."  I  asked  for  soap.  They  told  me  the 
girl  who  was  to  wait  on  English-speaking  cus- 
tomers had  not  yet  joined  the  staff.  I  inquired 
in  Italian  if  they  knew  that  language,  and  to 
my  great  relief  was  answered  in  the  affirma- 
tive, and  directed  to  a  little  shop  down  a  near 
street,  where  I  bought  an  excellent  piece  of 
soap  that  is  still  in  my  pc  ^session. 

Man  has  wrought  many  changes  in  Lourdes. 


LOURDES  REVISITED  157 

Only  the  works  of  God  remain  unchanged. 
The  Gave  flows  merrily  on.  singing  its  way  to 
the  sea.     Round  about  are  the  eternal  hills, 
which  change  not.    The  grotto  in  the  rocks  of 
Massabielle  still  looks  out  over  the  hurrying 
river,  even  as  Our  Lady,  from  her  (|uiet  niche, 
smiles  down  upon  the  ever  flowing  and  ebbing 
multitude  at  her  feet.     How  mighty  has  been 
that  tide  of  pilgrimage  since  last  I  knelt  before 
the  statue  of  Our  Lady  there!     Dav  by  day. 
month  by  month,  year  by  year,  it  'keeps  re- 
newing itself,    flowing  ever  onward   like  the 
leaping  waters  of  the  Gave. 

I  reached  Lourdes  on  the  eve  of  Saturday, 
May  10.  and  stayed  there  over  Sunday.    The 
great  Swiss  national  pilgrimage  was  there,  in 
eight  trains:  a  pilgrimage  from  Metz  in  two 
trains;  a  mixed  pilgrimage  from  Strassburg,  in 
two  trains;  the  seventeenth  pilgrimage  from 
Namur    in    three    trains;   the    ninth    national 
Bavarian  pilgrimage  in  two  trains;  and  the 
ninth  Austrian,  also  in  two  trains.    There  were 
m    all    some    fifteen    thousand    pilgrims,    of 
many  nations  and  many  tongues.    But  one  was 
the  faith  that  drew  them  thither;  one  the  de- 
votion.    And  one  was  the  hymn  they  sang  in 
unison  in  the  marvellous  torchlight  procession 


Ifi8 


LOURDES  REVISITED 


I 


i 


i 


that  night.  I  stood  watching  it  as  it  wound  its 
way  down  the  great  oval  pathway  through  the 
meadow  of  Lourdes.  The  spire  of  the  stately 
basilica  that  stands  over  the  Grotto,  the  grand 
facade,  and  the  Church  of  the  Rosary  beneath, 
were  all  ablaze.  Then  ten  thousand  pilgrims^ 
a  very  torrent  of  movinjj  lights,  poured  into 
the  pathway,  circled  slowly  round  it,  sway- 
ing and  singing  as  they  passed  along.  The 
sounds  that  rose  upon  the  night  air,  under  the 
listening  stars,  were  as  the  voices  of  the  sea. 

A  thought  that  saddens  comes  to  me  as  I 
write  these  words,  after  three  short  months. 
Many,  many  of  the  men  who  walked  side  by 
side  in  that  procession  have  ere  now  met  face 
to  face  on  Euroi)ean  battlefields.  Man  is  part 
beast,  and  part  ar^^el.  The  angel  is  of  God, 
the  beast  of  the  earth,  earthy.  And  the  beast 
tlint  is  in  man,  true  to  its  nature,  fights  its  fel- 
lows; the  angel  can  but  weep  over  the  fallen 
and  the  slain. 

What  a  sight  that  was  of  sick  and  suffering 
humanity  before  the  statue  of  Our  Lady  in 
the  rocks  of  Massabielle!  It  seemed  as  if  all 
the  ills  that  poor  human  flesh  is  heir  to  were 
brought  together  there.    One  had  not  the  heart 


LOT'RDFS  REVrsITFD  lag 

to  ask  favour'-  for  oneself,  so  piteous  was  the 
spectacle  of  so  much  misery  unrelievcrl.     For 
out  of  the  thousands  that  yearly  seek  a  cure  at 
Lourdes  but  few  are  made  whole.    \'et  all  are 
renewed  in  spirit,  and  strengthened  to  be»r 
their  ailments  with  Christian  resignation.     It 
IS  not  that  they  want  faith:  it  is  rather  that 
God  does  not  will  to  free  even  those  who  have 
faith   from  all  evil  here  below.     "It  is  ap- 
pointed unto  man  once  to  die."    Through  many 
tribulations,  through  the  gates  of  death  itself, 
we  must  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God,  King- 
dom of  endless  ages,  whereon,  as  St.  Augus- 
tine so  beautifully  expresses  it.  "sits  the  un- 
troubled  light,   and   the   peace   of  God   that 
passeth    all    understanding."      Meanwhile    in 
patience  we  shall  possess  our  souls. 

A  year  ago  one  came  to  Lourdes,  a  girl  from 
a  town  in  France,  sick  beyond  all  human  hope 
of  recovery.  She  had  a  complication  of  mala- 
dies,  including  consumption  in  its  last  stage 
Her  doctor,  an  unl^eliever,  deemed  it  madness 
in  her  to  undertake  the  long  jo  -ney.  But  go 
she  would.  He  told  her.  if  she  were  cured  he 
himself  would  go  with  her  next  year  to 
Lourdes.     They  were  both  of  them  there  the 


M 


100 


LOURDES  REVISITED 


Sunday  I  was  there — she  to  thank  Our  Lady 
for  the  wondrous  favour,  he  to  ponder  upon 
the  superhuman  power  that  wrought  it,  and  to 
find,  let  us  hope,  healing  and  peace  for  his  soul. 

In  a  corner  of  France,  amid  the  foothills  and 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Pyrenees,  Lourdes  lies 
sheltered  with  its  holy  shrine.  Afar  it  lies 
from  the  madding  strife  that  now  ravages  and 
reddens  with  blood  many  a  fair  field  that  was 
white  unto  harvest.  Let  us  pray  Our  Lady 
that  the  war  may  soon  be  over — that  He  who 
chid  the  wild  waves  on  the  sea  of  Galilee  may 
now  stay  the  fierce  onset  of  angry  passions, 
and  bring  a  great  calm. 


I 

I 


I 


A  FEW  MORE  STRAY  LEAVES  AND 
TRACES. 


I  HE  passage  from  \ew  York  in  Gib- 
raltar took  twelve  clays.  The  "  Sax- 
onia  "  is  sl..\.,  |,ut  sure  and  stcadv. 
There  was  little  .sea-.u-Kn- ss.  and  le- .  cmse 
for  it,  but  sniall-p.,x  1,1,^^  m,ii  :,:  ii,e  steer- 
age our  first  (lay  at  sea.  T'..'  tlMld— for  a 
child  it  was  that  showed  the  rcrul  .v,inpt.)nis 
—was  at  once  placed  in  the  i,olatiun  ho^iital. 
We  all  had  to  be  vaccinated,  and  iw  "  .-i..a 
onia"  steamed  into  the  harlxxir  <  f  lunchal, 

Madeira,  flying  the  yellow-jack,      ''here  « 

however.  little  fear  of  infectioti  anu^PK  our 
fellow-passengers  in  the  first  cabin,  as  became 
apparent  the  night  before  we  made  port. 
There  was  a  dance  on  tin-  deck,  which  we 
were  all  invited  to  join.  Conspicuous  on  the 
list  of  dances  that  lay  before  each  ijassenger 
as  we  sat  down  that  evening  to  the  dinner  table 
was  "  the  vaccination  waltz !  '•  Next  nit»rning 
a  pathetic  little  wooden  box,  roughly  carpen- 
tered, was  landed  at  Madeira.    It  contained  the 

161 


i 


16S 


A  FEW  MORE  STRAY 


remains  of  the  little  child  which  had  died  in 
port — not  of  small-pox,  which  had  turned  out 
after  all  "o  be  chicken-pox — but  of  two  hard- 
boiled  eggs  administered  by  a  fond  mother  dur- 
ing convalescence.  So  at  least  the  story  ran  on 
board  ship,  though  I  fancy  it  was  just  made  up 
to  free  us  the  more  completely  from  appre- 
hension. 


Madeira  is  one  of  the  loveliest  islands  of 
the  sea.  The  waters  around  it  are  of  the  deep- 
est blue,  and' its  sloping  fields  of  the  richest  ver- 
dure. Funchal,  the  capital  city,  is  on  the 
shores  of  a  winding  bay.  The  houses  spot- 
lessly v/hite,  the  roofs  red-tiled,  form  a  pleas- 
ing contrast  of  colour  with  the  green  of  the 
fields  and  the  tropical  tree-  ^  ound  about  them. 
Madeira  belongs  to  Portugal.  The  inhabitants 
are  almost  all  of  them  Catholics,  and  very 
devout.  The  storm  of  persecution  that  so  lately 
burst  over  the  mother  country  has  spared  this 
distant  daughter  in  her  sea-girt  home. 

Quitting  the  boat  at  Gibraltar,  and  passing 
by  rail  through  Spain  and  the  south  of  France, 
I  reached  Rome  before  the  middle  of  May. 


LEAVES  AND  TRACES  163 

Rome  is  greatly  changed  since  I  knew  it  first, 
and  changed,  I  am  free  to  own.  for  the  better.' 
New    streets    have    been    opened,    old    ones 
straightened  and  widened,  and  all  the  streets 
are  fairly  well  kept.     The  city  has  taken  over 
the  magnificent  Villa  Borghese,  and  turned  it 
mto  a  park,  to  which  access  is  given,  out  of  the 
very  heart  of  Rome,  from  piazza  Barberini, 
along  a  broad  highway,  acmss  the  Pincian  Hill 
The  deep  valley  beyond  is  bridged  by  a  lofty 
embankment.     No  city  is  more  favoured  than 
Rome  m  its  parks  and  fountains. 


Rome  is  greatly  changed,  too.   spiritually, 
and  for  the  better.    There  is  more  of  devotion 
in  the  churches :  more  of  respect,  or  at  least  of 
outward  respect,  for  the  pilgrim  in  the  streets. 
In  Rome  ecclesiastical  things  are  pretty  much 
as  they  have  always  been.     There  is  a  saying 
familiar  to  the  theologian,  Communia  vilcscunt 
—common  things  are  held  uncominonly  cheap. 
What    so   common    as   the    priest    in    Rome! 
None  so  poor  as  to  do  him  reverence.    Even  a 
bishop  on  occasion  does  not  fare  much  better. 
Apropos  of  this  T  have  been  told  a  story,  which 
to  quote  the  well-worn  Italian  saying,  Se  non 


164 


A  FEW  MORE  STRAY 


e  vero,  e  ben  trovato — if  not  true,  is  a  clever 
take-off,  and  may  serve  to  point  a  moral. 

Last  winter  there  was  a  grand  function  in 
the  Sixtine  Chapel.  The  Holy  Father  was 
there,  and  the  place  was  packed  with  people. 
They  kept  pressing  forward  in  their  eagerness 
to  get  near  the  Pope.  At  last  the  papal  guard 
turned  their  backs  to  the  multitude,  and  held 
them  there.  A  belated  Cardinal  tried  to  force 
his  way  through,  but  couldn't.  Taking  one  of 
the  guard  by  the  shoulder,  he  told  him  who  he 
was  and  that  he  had  to  get  by.  "  Oh,  pardon 
me,  your  Eminence."  cried  the  soldier,  greatly 
taken  aback,  "  I  thought  you  were  only  a 
Bishop!" 


I  1^ 


The  public  consistory  of  May  the  28th, 
viewed  simply  as  a  pageant,  was  well  worth 
waiting  for.  Cardinals  and  bishops,  in  their 
scarlet  and  purple  robes,  lined  the  front  seats, 
and  the  elect  Cardinals,  in  gorgeous  panoply, 
brought  up  the  rear  of  a  long  procession.  The 
ambassadors  to  the  Holy  See  and  the  heads 
of  the  old  noble  families  of  Rome,  were  con- 
spicuous in  seats  specially  reserved  for  them. 


LEAVES  AND  TRACES 


165 


But  what  struck  one  as  without  parallel  in  so 
august  an  assemblage  was  this  singular  cir- 
cumstance: a  peasant  from  Riese  sat  in  the 
throne  of  Peter,  and  three  other  peasants  from 
Riese,  two  sisters  and  a  niece,  who  bore  about 
them  all  the  marks  of  their  peasant  ancestry, 
occupied  the  place  of  honour  in  a  tribune  hard 
by.  It  was  the  apotheosis  of  democracy. 
The  like  had  never  been  seen  at  the  Papal 
Court,  at  lea.st  since  the  swineherd  Sixtus,  the 
fifth  of  that  name,  refused  to  receive,  when 
dressed  as  a  fine  lady,  the  mother  whom  he 
afterwards  welcomed  when  she  came  back  to 
him  in  her  peasant  costume. 


It  is  not  easy  to  gain  admittance  to  a  papal 
consistory,  and  thereby  hangs  another  tale. 
From  immemorial  time  the  noble  Roman  fam- 
ilies have  a  sort  of  prescriptive  right  to  a  large 
number  of  admission  tickets,  which  they  use 
in  part  themselves,  and  in  part,  it  is  said,  ofifer 
for  sale  in  the  hotels  of  Rome.  These  are 
eagerly  bought  up  b^  tourists  and  travellers, 
who  are  largely  Protestant.  Hence  it  comes  to 
pass  that  while  a  bishop  often  cannot  get  a 
ticket   for  an   attendant  priest,   hundreds  of 


106 


A  FEW  MORE  STRAY 


Protestants  and  unbelievers  hold  prominent 
places  at  the  consistory.  The  story  is  of  the 
time  when  Pasquino  (whence  our  English 
"pasquinade")  entertained  the  Romans  with 
his  clever  satirical  skits.  They  took  the  form 
of  cartoons,  and  were  placed  during  the  night 
at  the  foot  of  a  statue  to  which  all  Rome  was 
wont  to  take  its  way  to  amuse  itself  of  a  morn- 
ing. After  one  of  the  public  consi.stories,  this 
is  what  greeted  the  eye  of  Rome.  Two  young 
men  are  hurrying  to  the  Vatican.  Some  curi- 
ous passer-by  bids  them  the  time  of  day,  and 
would  know  why  they  hasten  so.  "  We  are  on 
our  way."  they  say.  "  to  the  Vatican,  to  the 
consistory."  "  But  where  is  the  use  of  your 
going;  you  can't  get  in."  "Oh,  that's  all 
right,"  rejoin  the  confident  pair,  "  we  turned 
Protestant  yesterday !  " 


On  leaving  Rome  I  visited  Assisi,  fraught 
with  memories  of  St.  Francis  and  St.  Clare. 
Loreto,  also,  with  its  Holy  House,  and  from 
Ancona  crossed  to  Tersatto.  near  Fiume,  where 
the  Angels  first  set  down  the  House  of  the  Vir- 
gin when  they  came  with  it  over  the  sea.  I 
recrossed  the  Adriatic  to  Venice  in  an  .\ustrian 


LEAVES  AND  TRACES  167 

boat.  Four  of  us  slept  in  one  small  stateroom 
packed  like  sardines.  I  could  barely  squeeze 
into  my  berth,  and  passed  the  night  in  dread 
lest  the  big  burly  German  (known  to  be  such 
by  his  gutturals)  who  occupied  the  upper  berth 
should  fall  through  and  quite  flatten  mc  out. 
My  sympathies  have  always  been  with  the  un- 
der dog,  and  henceforth  will  be  more  than  ever 
— for  I  was  the  under  sardine ! 

We  came  to  Venice  in  the  early  morning 
when  the  newly  risen  sun  had  turned  every- 
thing into  gold.     There  she  sat  a  queen  upon 
the  waters.     Small  wonder  that  one  Joseph 
Sarto  should  have  pined,  and  pines  still,  in  his 
prison-palace  of  the  Vatican,  for  this  old  home 
of  his  on  the  sea.  which  it  is  his  inclement  des- 
tmy  never  more  to  set  eyes  on.     Venice  is  a 
city  without  streets.     In.stead  there  are  canals 
and  corridors— canals  where  glide  the  swan- 
hke    gondolas,    and    corridors    between    the 
houses,  so  narrow  that  people  living  on  oppo- 
site sides  may  shake  hands  across. 


While  I  sat  writing  the  last  paragraph  the 
hfe  of  Pope  Pius  the  Tenth  was  slowly  ebbing 


168 


A  FEW  MORE  STRAY 


away.  He  was  passing  to  the  better  world, 
where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and 
the  weary  are  at  rest.  He  had  fought  the  good 
fight,  he  had  kept  the  faith.  He  had  laboured 
while  yet  it  was  day,  knowing  that  the  night 
Cometh  when  no  one  can  labour  more.  His 
was  a  truly  simple  and  apostolic  life.  He  had 
a  single  eye  to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good 
of  his  fellow-man.  If  ever  there  was  one  who 
could  say  that  he  sought  not  the  office,  but 
that  the  office  sought  him,  he  was  the  Pope 
whose  loss  we  mourn.  He  has  done  an  endur- 
ing work  for  God  and  the  Church,  and  has  left 
an  inspiring  example  of  a  life  untainted  with 
worldliness  and  fragrant  with  faith  and  good 
works.  Eternal  rest  grant  to  him,  O  Lord,  and 
let  light  perpetual  shine  upon  him ! 


I  spent  a  night  in  Domodossola  just  beyond 
the  beautiful  Lago  Maggiore,  in  the  Italian 
Alps.  Here  the  Rosminian  Fathers  have  a  col- 
lege for  boys,  largely  attended.  A  unique  fea- 
ture of  the  museum  is  a  room  filled  with  la- 
belled specimens  of  the  different  kinds  of  stone 
taken  from  the  great  Simplon  tunnel — an  al- 
most endless  variety.    Beyond  the  Simplon,  on 


LEAVES  AND  TRACES  169 

the  Swiss  side,  the  train,  which  is  driven  by 
electricity,  passes  along  the  side  of  a  precipi- 
tous mountain.  An  Alpine  river  winds  its  way 
two  thousand  feet  below.  From  the  window 
of  the  train  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  flying 
aeroplane,  about  midway  down.  Far  beyond 
on  the  other  side  the  eye  rested  on  great  fields 
of  untrodden  snow.  The  valleys  of  Switzer- 
land are  for  the  most  part  so  narrow  that  it 
is  easy  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  wonderful 
mountain  scenery. 


At  Berne  I  had  just  time  to  pay  a  visit  to 
my  old  acfiuaintances — I  dare  not  say  friends 
— the  bears.  There  are  as  many  as  seven  of 
them  now  in  the  underground  enclosure  across 
the  Aar  river,  the  cubbies  that  I  saw  on  my 
first  visit  having  grown  into  bears.  I  bought 
one  or  two  specimens  of  the  beast  in  wood,  and 
saw  many  more  that  would  have  made  inter- 
esting additions  to  my  former  repertoire — 
bears  painting,  bears  playing  cards,  bears  play- 
ing the  piano,  bears  working  in  wood,  bears 
smoking  long  German  pipes,  bears  nursing  sick 
bears,  and  bears  rejoicing  in  the  birth  of  cub- 
bies! 


170 


A  FEW  MORE  STRAY 


From  Bcrnc  I  passed  to  Strassburg,  from 
Strassburg  along  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  to 
Cologne,  and  from  Cologne  to  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
known  to  me  from  schooldays  as  a  place  where 
peace  treaties  were  signed.  Peace  then 
brooded  on  the  land,  a  land  of  plenty,  smiling 
with  promise  of  a  rich  harvest.  But  on  every 
hand  were  soldiers,  and  the  whole  nation  ap- 
peared to  be  cast  in  a  military  mould.  What- 
ever the  ;.atcome  of  the  terrible  war  into  which 
Europe  is  plunged  to-day,  the  future  historian 
will  record  and  lay  due  stress  on  this  signifi- 
cant fact,  that  Germany  led  the  world  in  war- 
like preparation,  and  that  other  nations  did  but 
strive  to  keep  pace  with  her. 

The  return  voyage,  on  the  Empress  of  Brit- 
ain, was  almost  without  incident.  «Jne  day  of 
storm  we  had,  in  mid-ocean,  when  our  big  ship 
was  tossed  about  and  great  seas  broke  over 
her.  A  day  or  two  later,  on  the  banks  of  New- 
foundland, an  iceberg  was  sighted  almost  di- 
rectly ahead.  It  looked  ghostlike  as  it  loomed 
up  out  of  the  haze,  and  the  air  for  miles  around 
was  chill  as  winter.  I  left  the  ship  at  Rim- 
ouski,  about  sunrise  of  a  July  morning,  close 
to  the  spot  where  her  sister  ship  went  down  a 
few  weeks  before  with  almost  every  soul  on 


LEAVES  AND  TRACES  171 

board.  At  Rimouski  I  took  an  eastbound  train 
to  my  old  home,  feeling,  as  I  never  felt  before, 
the  force  of  Sir  Walter's  undying  lines : 

Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand. 


WORKM    MY    THK 
■T.  HBV.  AI.BXANOBR  MmDONALO.  D.D^ 

Bi.te»  .1  VI..,rU.  B.C. 
Th«  Sy»lioi  of  thm  AportI— . 

A  VlndlctUon  of  t»H«  Ap«>Htoltc  Authorship  of  th»  Crmi 

on  tb«  Llnw  of  Catholic  Trtdltlon.     By   Rt.   Riv.   Aimx. 

Macbokau).  D.  D..  BlBhop  of  \  ictorla.  B.  C.  12mo.  377  pp. 

Cloth,  net,  1.25;   full  moroct<o,  net,  2.00 

"A   splendid   ^orkr—FrrlfMiaittirat  Hevieic. 

"  In  point  of  orljclnallty  11  ml  brllllaut  Mchlevement  one  of 
the  moMt  notahle  bookn  that  Iiuh  come  to  u  ri'vlewer'8  deok 
In  many  a  ^lay."— Catholic  Knord. 

"  I  am  too  much  lmpre«wd  by  the  oumulatlv*.  Htrength 
of  It  to  stand  off  an  a  doubting  critic  to  Hud  |x>fuilble  flawa." 
Rt,  R«v.  Da.  MacNul,  of  St.  (Jeorjce.  N.  F.  L. 

"A  splendid  example  of  critical  scholarship "—r»« 
Ouidon. 

"  We  have  read  It  twice,  parts  of  It  ..ftener.     We  are  of 
the  opinion  that  If  some  of  those  wIk»  felt  callnl  upon  to 
review  It  had  done  the  same  they  would  hardly  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  with  reHiKM't  to  It  which  thev  seem  to 
have   reached.     Dr.   MncDonuld's   splendid   blsf.ry  of   the 
Apostles'  Creed  has  a  fresh   Interest   now  for   Its  closlnu 
chapter  dealing  with  the  name     Catholic'  and  when  and 
how  It  came  to  be  the  distinct  title  of  the  Church."— Hev. 
L.  A.   Lambebt.  LL.  D.,  In  S\w   York  Freeman'),  Journal. 
"The  author,  n  brilliant  alumnus  of  the  Koman  Seminary 
of   Propaganda,   and   a   highly   appreciated   contributor   ti) 
several  Catholic  periodicals.  Is  at  once  a  metaphysician  and 
a  scholar.     His  refutation  of  Harnack's  theory  concerning 
the  Creed  bears  the  impress  of  the  twofold  quality  of  his 
subtle  and  searching  mind.     We  believe  the  refutation  In 
question    is    complete."— Mgr.     L.    A.     Paquet,    of    Uvul 
University. 

"It   Is   a    relief   to   come   across    a    work    like   Bishop 
MacDonald's  Symbol  of  the  Apostles,  after  the  dreary  watt* 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTK3N   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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I.I 


1.25 


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2.2 
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of  academic  discussions  that  centre  about  this  well-wora 
eonfossion  of  Christian  faith."— Very  Rev.  Dr.  Shahan.  Im 
The  Catholic  Univeraity  Bulletin. 

"The  Htudent,  be  he  a  Roman  Catholic,  or  a  catholic- 
minded  Presbyterian,  or  an  out-and-out  disciple  of  John 
Calvin,  will  read  Dr.  MacDonald's  Symbol  of  the  Apostles 
with  interest  and  not  without  profit."— T/ie  Presbyterian 
Witnefis. 

"The  Symbol  of  the  Apostles  by  Dr.  MacDonald  is  a 
work  of  great  erudition,  and  I  congratulate  the  publishers 
on  the  way  they  have  executed  their  part."— N.  C.  Matz, 
Bishop  of  Denver. 

A  work  of  great  merit  and  standard  erudition.— Most 
Rev.  Dr.  Begin,  Archbishop  of  Quebec. 

A  contribution  of  the  highest  value  to  the  historic  aspects 
of  our  belief.— Bishop  MacDonald,  of  Charlottetown,  P.  E.  I. 

It  is  a  learned  work  and  should  be  in  the  library  of 
every  priest  and  educated  layman.— Bishop  Horstman,  of 
Cleveland. 

A  scholarly  and  edifying  book.— Tfce  Catholic  Columbian. 

Based  on  original  research  and  built  up  by  critical 
acumen  and  masterly  scholarship.- Tfce  Catholic  Record. 

Dr.  MacDonald  shows  a  very  full  and  accurate  knowl- 
edge of  the  early  writers  whose  works  have  a  bearing  on 
the  subject  .  .  .  .  and  by  a  process  of  keen  and  logical 
reasoning,  builds  up  a  new  defence  too  solid  and  strong  foi 
the  artillery  of  historical  criticism.— Tfce  Cross. 

Bishop  MacDonald  has  given  us  in  this  volume  a  palnstak 

Ing  sr:.olarly  work from  a  point  of  view  nol 

so  much  In  evidence  In  the  present  day  discussion  of  th< 
subject  as  that  which  It  opposes.— Tft*'  HomUetic  Monthly 

The  book  Is  well  indexed,  and  there  is  a  list  of  th« 
authorities  consulted  in  its  preparation.  His  readers  wil 
thank  him  for  yielding  to  the  request  to  add  the  ver; 
satisfactory  closing  cliapter  oa  the  Catbolic  name.— ffc 
Boston  PUot. 


-Most 


I 


Th«  Symbol  in   SrmonM. 

A  TOriBB  of  Twenty-tlve  Short  Sermons  ou  th,.  Article. 
^  tf  Cr^eU.  By  Rr.  Rkv.  a.^x.  M;.rooNAi.D.  D.  D.  V>mT 
214   pp. 

net.  UHi 

"Its  chapters  are   pregnant   with   thought  The 

r.?  ,?'  J^"    ^''"^'    *'^^"'    '^^"°"''«    '^n'l    con,plete."-7-fce 
Catholic  Transcript. 

"  It  Is  lucid  and  easy  in  style,  concise  in  arrangement,  and 
magnetic  in  Its  erudItion.--7'/,e.  Catholic  licgi^tc. 

"This  work  is  all  it  professes  to  he.  It  ml«ht  .iNn  In. 
styled  excellent  sermons  ou  the  Apostles"  Creed;-*,. 
Church  Progress. 

"We  recommend  this  volume  to  our  readers  for  their 
use  and  as  u  most  appropriate  gift  to  the  lni|ulring 
Protestant."— r^e  Catholic  Record. 

"We  think  that  this  volume  of  Dr.  MacDonald's  will 
take  a  high  place  among  works  of  this  class.  Altogether 
In  matter  and  method,  these  sermons  are  well  suited  hotli 
to  serve  as  sources  to  which  preachers  can  have  recourse 
and  models  for  their  own  nork."-Thr  Jfomilctir  Monthly. 

The  Sacrifice  of  the   Mass. 

"This  Is  a  book  of  the  highest  merit,  and  one  that 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  both  the  clergy  and  laity."— Tfce 
Catholic  Columbian-Record. 

"Three  chapters  are  headed:  1.  The  True  Idea  of 
Sacrifice,  U.  History  of  the  Sacrificial  Idea  In  the  Mass 
3.  The  Si.erlflclal  Idea  in  the  Mass.  A  careful  analysis  of 
each  chapter  precedes  the  w..rk,  and  an  appendix  of  quota- 
tions Is  added."— rftr  Sarrcd  Heart  Review. 

"Theologians  will  find  this  book  luminous  and  interert- 
ing.—The  Pittsburg  Catholic. 


"This  cxplanaticn  sets  the  reality  of  the  sacrifice  of  tb* 
Mass  in  a  new  light  and  defends  it  agaiust  the  more  or 
less  rationalist  theories  that  have  been  recently  broached. 
No  doubt  this  book,  like  the  Symbol  of  the  Apostlet,  will 
excite  comment." — The  Canadian  Mettenger  of  the  dccred 
Heart. 

"  To  us  the  most  luminous  part  of  it  seems  his  discussion 
of  the  Last  Supper  and  its  relation  to  the  Cross.  We 
are  all  so  prone  or  so  Impelled  by  our  limitations  to  rej^ard 
truth  as  if  it  were  a  set  of  separate  texts,  like  people  walk- 
ing in  a  wooded  country  where  they  can  only  see  small 
spaces  one  by  one,  that  the-  most  helpful  writer  Is  he  who 
jOiides  us  to  an  eminence  where  we  can  see  that  things 
we  thought  diverse  are  but  one  or  parts  of  one  whole." — 
The  Casket. 

"A  second  reading  has  deepened  the  first  impression.  I 
really  think  you  have  made  a  valuable  contribution  to 
theological  science."— Right  Rev.  Dr.  MacNeil;  Bishop  of 
St.  George.  Nfld.,  in  a  letter  to  the  author. 


"The  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,"  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Alex.  Mac- 
Donald,  D.  D.,  is  "an  historical  and  doctrinal  Inquiry  into 
the  nature  of  the  Euchpristic  Sacrifice."  Within  the  compass 
of  six  score  pages  Bishop  MacDonald  gives  a  succinct, 
scholarly,  and  adequate  demonstration  of  the  fact  that  the 
traditional  Catholic  conception  of  Holy  Mass  as  being 
Identically  the  same  Sacrifice  primarily  offered  at  the 
Last  Supper  and  on  the  Cross- -a  conception  attested  to  by 
•X  cloud  of  witnesses  throughout  the  centuries — Is  the  very 
truth.  As  in  the  author's  previous  works,  "  The  Symbol 
of  the  Apostles  "  and  "  Tf  mbol  in  Sermons,"  there  is  in 
this  volume  abundant  eviuence  of  many-sided  erudition, 
trenchant  logic,  luminous  exposition,  and  that  suggoi-tlve- 
ness  of  reserved  power  which  stamps  the  work  of  the  well- 
e((ulpped  scholar.  The  book  is  brought  out  in  neat  and 
attractive  form  by  the  Christian  Press  Association,  New 
York.— Ave  Maria.    Fine  cloth  binding,  net  1.00 


B«Htfon«  Onaationa  of  th«  Day.   Vol.  I. 

ne^  1.00 
Volume  I.     203  pp..  is  a   book  of  five  essaj     and  two 

"Zrr  'T""'  °'  ^*^  ^•"'^°'  QuestionlT,ieVirZ 
Birth-Mary  Ever  a  Virgin-The  Asaumption  of  the  Virain 
Mary,  and  Bridginy  the  Grave.  " 

••  Every  student  of  theology  will  be  stimulated  by  the  book 

•  "  LT  T'^KT''  «*  ""-  ^-™  '^^  >--ed  !uUho; 

»an.I  Itr       .        "'*'''  "  ""*"  '^«*^  ^"'J  «  «'«de  acquain- 
tance with  purely  secular  llterature.-Ca/Ao/ic  World 

"Simple  and  direct  are  his  books,  but  what  a   world  of 
toil  they  repre.  -nt.  »  *  Thoy  are.  indee      testimonies  to  a 
devotion  to  Sacred  Science,  and  they  are  also  beyond  .pL 
tlon  proofs  of  a  many-sided  erudition  which  is  as  edlf  1^8 
as  it  Is  Instructlve.-CafAo^K-  Record.  euirying 

CathT.lT'""'"'  !!'''  ^'"'■'^  unreservedly  to  our  educated 
Catholic  laymen."— TAe  Uuidon. 

"  In  forceful  presentation  of  solid  arguments  and  .resh- 
ness  of  color  given  to  oldtime  questions  they  the  esLays) 
are  equally  meritorious."-4t;r  Maria.  ^^ 

Rali^loaa  Qneatjona  of  the  Day.    Vol.  H. 

Dr.  MacDonald  discusses  the  Symbol  in  the  New  Testn, 
-^^nt-The  Discipline  of  the  Sreret-The  EthlalZp^Z 

Drummond  on  "Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World.")  and 
The  Imagination.    223  pp.  cloth  „,,;  j  Jj 

"  It  is  in  the  firm  mastering  of  those  permanent  truths- 
infnTi'f  "•  P'^'^^'P'^'  ^»^-»°«  'ind  human,  the  clear  insight 
^!?.  H  ,T°^°^  ««^  bearings,  together  with  the  practical 
metuod  of  their  application  to  certain  subjects  now  occupy- 
ng  mens  mind-it  is  in  these  qualities  here  in  act,  scJulo 
that  constitute  the  permanent  worth  of  these  essavs  ♦  •  . 
set  forth  with  the  author's  characte-lstlc  precision,  per- 
spicuity, and  beauty  of  dkrion."-^,..,.,/„..,,v-«,  /eer.nr 

"Treated  with  a  dignity  and  .sureness  sadly  wanting  in 
the  work  of  the  apologist,  o-tsl.le  the  Church  who  have 


taken  tli^ht  ho  iguominiuusiy  befure  the  uusluughtH  of  tilt 
'  higher  criticism.'  •  •  ♦  Few  present  day  writers  on 
Catholic  topics  are  clearer  or  more  satisfying  than  Dr. 
MticDonaUl"—The  Pilot. 

Pension*  One««ion«  of  «he  Day.    Vol.  111. 

SoMK  Modernistic  Theobies  and  Tendencies  Exposed, 
By  the  Rt.  Rev.  Alexandeb  MacDonald,  D.  D.  Vol.  III. 
12ni().    329  pp.  net,  1.00 

VonWntH'.  The  Gospel  Narratives;  Are  They  Really 
Dlscrt^pant?  The  Catholic  Encyclopaedia  and  the  Higher 
Criticism — Alleged  Process  of  Evolution — F'alse  in  Name  and 
ill  Fact— The  Bible  and  Modern  Dlfflcultles— The  Bible  tind 
the  Higher  Criticism— Biblical  Dlfflcultles— A  Novel  with  u 
I'urpo.se — History  and  Inspiration — ^The  Firmament — The 
Atonoinent — God's  Foreknowledge  of  Moral  Evil — ^The  Date 
of  Our  Lord's  Birth. — Mgr.  Duchesne  and  the  Date  of 
Nativity — The  Holy  House  of  Loreto — The  Materials  of 
the  Holy  House — ^The  Assumption  of  the  Bles.sed  Virgin 
Mary  and  a  Charge  of  Modernism — ^The  Assumption  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  Mary — Papal  and  Concillar  Infallibility — 
St.  .VuRustlne  and  Evolution — The  Apostles'  Creed — A 
Critique  in  the  Dublin  Review — The  Eucharistic  Sacrifice- 
Grace  the  Life  of  God  in  the  Soul. 

M  editationa  oa  the  Bleaaed  Virftia. 


From  the  German  of  Rev.  Francis  Gabrlni,  S.  J.  New 
edition  carefully  revised  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  Alexander  Mac- 
Donald,  D.  D.,  Bishop  of  Victoria,  Canada. 

This  book  will  fill  a  long-felt  want  and  may  be  used  dur- 
ing the  mouth  of  May  at  the  evening  devotions.  Each 
Meditation  Is  divided  into  Three  Points.  This  plan  will  be 
found  convenient  for  priests  who  have  to  preach  or  speak 
on  the  Blessed  Virgin.  It  will  not  be  difficult  for  them  to 
find.  In  such  a  variety  of  matter  what  they  are  in  quest  of; 
and  since  the  division  is  already  made,  and  the  matter 
already  In  order,  they  can  have  no  further  trouble  thnn  to 
develop,  a  little  more,  the  matter  furnished  them  in  these 
pages.  For  religious  this  book  will  fill  a  niche  that  has 
long  been  vacant. 

Bound  In  cloth  and  contains  384  pages :  net,  $1.00 


THE  HOLY  HOUSE  OF  LORETO 

A  CRITICAL  STUDY  OF   DOCUMENTS  AND  TRADITIONS 

BT  THK 

RT.  REV.  ALEX.  MACDONALD,  D.  D. 

Bi8iior  or  VicTOKiA.  B.  C. 

"  We  have  had  frooiient  occasion  to  comment  In  these 
columns  on  the  nianj  slJed  erudition,  the  tiencliant  Iol'U' 
an,  the  luminous  exjiositlon  which  chnracteri/e  Ulshoi*. 
MacDonalds  aiioloKetic  work  «enorully.  and  hav«.  ex- 
pressed o»ir  apiireciation  of  niucli  of  the  material  Ip  the 
present  volume.  It  will  accordlnsly  he  sufJioient  to  re- 
mind onr  readers  that  neither  Canon  Chevalier  in  his 
work,  nor  Father  Thurston,  in  his  article  "Santa  <'as'i  '• 
In  the  "Catholic  Encyclopedia,"  has  said  tlie  last  word 
as  to  the  authenticity  of  the  Holy  House.  The  hook  1..- 
fore  us  cannot  be  disposed  of  by  any  suiwrcllious  assinnp- 
tlon  that  "scholars  no  longer  doubt  that  the  Holy  House 
is  a  pious  fraud."— The  .Vve  M^^xhia. 

"  Every  lover  of  Our  Lady  and  of  tradition  wih  wel- 
come Bishop  MacDonald's  work,  which  forms  a  powerful 
protest  against  the  Iconoclasm,  which,  under  the  name 
of  sclentltic  criticism,  Is  attempting  to  destroy  well 
grounded  traditions  by  arguments  which  are  mere  hv- 
potheses."— The  Catholic  Review. 

"Bishop  MacDonald  id  an  uncompromising  defender  of 
the  ancient  tradition  concerning  the  Holv  House  of 
Loreto.  He  takes  issue  both  with  Father  Thnrston's 
S^T  "'ri?  ^'^^**  **^"^^  °^  <^»"o°  Chevalh  r,  on  whose  hook 
Father  Thurston  evidently  drew  in  the  prepartion  of  his 
article.  The  polntf-  at  issue  are  well  set  f(,rth  in  Hlshon 
MacDonald's  book,  The  Holy  House  of  Loreto  "— 
The  Catholic  Educational  Review. 

"  Catholics  all  over  tne  English-speaking  world  will  hall 
with  delight  this  masterful  vindication  of  their  devotion 
to  Our  Lady  of  Loreto.    The  learned  Bishop  in  this  book 


puts  a  qulptiis  on  thoso  Kentlcnu-n  who  tlionglit  they  ha<l 
proven  that  thy  translation  o(  the  Holy  llouw  of  Loreto 
was  a  myth." — Thk  Westebn  Catuouc. 

•'There  is  no  doubt  that  the  arsumentH  which  the 
learned  Hlshop  murHhals  lu  defence  of  the  Holy  llovise. 
cannot  he  lightly  Het  aside.  All  lovers  of  the  veneralile 
Hhriue  ot  the  Blessed  Virgin  will  he  thankful  to  ilu-  Hi. 
Ilev.  Rlshop  for  his  vigorous  and  spirited  defence,  and 
even  those  who  disagree  with  him  on  sclentllic  grounds, 
Would  do  wrong  to  shut  their  eyes  t<»  the  force  and  so- 
lidity   of    the   argumeutB    brought    forward.'"— TuE    iOc- 

CLE8IA8TICAL   REVIEW. 


IJ 


li! 


i  1^ 


"  It  has  long  been  a  pious  tradition  that  tlie  liouse  tlio 
Holy  Family  lived  iu  at  Nazareth  was  miraculously  trans- 
lated  to  Loreto.  These  pilgrhnages  have  been  made  for 
centtirles  and  wonders  done  by  Ood's  intervention  and 
(Jur  LadyVs.  lilshop  MacDonald  has.  In  a  bt>ok  of  40<) 
pages,  vindicated  the  faith  that  i«  in  him  as  to  the 
reality  of  the  Holy  House  of  I.oreto  and  at  the  same  time 
completely  routed  <'anon  Chevalier's  assertions  to  the 
contrary  or  doubt-castings  on  the  i>Ious  belief  of  ages."— 
(Utiiouc  Register  and  Canadian  I<:xten8Ion. 

"  ni-shop  MacDonald'.s  leamtHl  treatise,  based  on  docu- 
mentary pvidenco  as  well  as  personal  observation.  In  itjp- 
port  of  the  miraculous  transljition  of  the  home  of  St. 
Joseph  iind  the  r.lossod  Virgin  is  highly  interesting. 
Tl  s  latest  contribution  to  ilarlan  literature  can  not  fall 
to  «>  very  welcome  and  pleasing  to  d(>vout  clients  of  the 
Mother  of  (Jod  everywhere." — The  Catuouc  Light. 

"Rlshop  AlacDonald's  .^tudy  of  the  documents  and 
traditions  of  Loreto,  are  wide  and  comprehensive.  He  la 
a  firm  believer  in  the  history  of  the  Holy  House  and  his 
book  is  a  thorough  .iiiswer  to  the  skeptics  .ind  modernists 
who  are  influenced  by  the  hypercritical  views  of  the  day. 
To  all  interested  in  the  .sacred  shrine  the  book  will  prove 
of  very  great  interest." — The  Tablet. 

"  This  History  of  the  Holy  House  of  Nazareth  will  be 
appreciated."— The  Pittsbuboh  Cathouc. 


11 


TXheii  (•iiiion  riu-valU.r'M  "  \otr..-l»aiiic  .1.-  I.on.tf,. "  nn- 
penml  evory  on..  i.rHen.lInK  to  l>.>  a  •  .scholarlv  hiHtor- 
lan  thought  to  Justify  l.ls  clal,,,  by  «h„utii,«  tl.a't  L..ro to 
was  now  as  .l.a.l  ax  a  doornail. 

On..  ..f  tlu,f  stron^Tsl  joints  van  that  prior  to  tho 
transl:.iioi.  ..r  tlu-  Holy  llousi..  no  i.ii^riiij  to  Xazai"th 
Het.n.s   to   have  luenfion..,!   It.     To  on,,   who   known  an v" 

d..clsh..  \\  ,o  eoul.l  uo  to  Lor.to  and  ut.t  Hpt-ak  of  tl," 
I  ons..  stan.lInK  up  un.l.'r  th.-  roof  of  n ,.  |,.,sliU-  v 
.smuiarly.  who  could  hav.  uon.-  to  Na.arot  a  d  a vJ 
r..ma,n.-,l  sll..„t  al.out  th..  Mou.s..V  Thl.s  prohal  Iv  «a v.^ 
u'  ar«u.ii,.nf  Its  .um-  for  fh..vall..r  an.l  his  fri.M.  Is 
who,  stran«.>  as  It  may  swm,  ,u.v..r  thou-ht  it  iv„r  i,' 
While  to  >is,t  ..lth..r  Xazareth  or  I.:;..,.;  IS  la        .! 

holr  attack :  which.  Ilk.,  th.-  staff  of  a  mo,l..,n  arlu  '        ly 

Macl.onal.l.     He  was  absolutely  fandllar  with  Nazar.-t 
and  Lurcto    vi>|fin;;  ,b,.u.  n.ore  than  .u.c...  though  I...  ,1 
ve  acr..ss  the  Atlantic  in  Anthfonlsh:  and  he  brln;;s  out 
he  iuiportant  fact  that   th..  House  was  in   the  crvpt  oj 
th..  Nazareth  Church,   that    it    was   in  contact   witi    the 

Holy  tamily.  an.l  that  a  v.-ry  careful  exandnati..n  woMd 
have  been  r.'.|uir..d  to  .ILstin-iiish  it  from  ili-m  S.-e- 
oiidly,  he  shows  that  before  the  translation  pii-riins'spoke 

'  .Hr.  !"V^'  "'"'  *'"'  *'"'''''''  Xwf'i^^'-  .••■^  the  llolv  House. 
«iid  Ihirdly.  that  since  the  time  of  the  fransjatini,  a  part 
that  was  spoken  of  by  tli«  pil^'riuis  no  ion;,  .•  eMsts  in 
Nazareth,  and  liu.t  its  site  nv.s  a  place  .w  vacant 
AKa  n  in  dealing  with  Canon  Chevaller-s  assuiwi.ion  that 
the  t  hurch  of  .St.  Af-,ry  in  f„ml„  Luunti.  exist  in;;  b,.fore 
th,.  .late  ..t  translath.n.  must  \,v  i.h.ntifi...|  with  the 
in!!*'  Vm"**?;  ^  "''"'"■^-  f""''>«i"«  I'i'ther  Ks.-hbach.  how 
wo  '  VMr„n-  ■'  *"  '''''''"'*"  ""^'  ^•"""^^•ti""   '•-•»•..«»   the 


My  warmest  congratulations  for  your  scholarly  and 
ill  my  view,  successful  defence  of  th,.  beautiful  ami  tiiii,-' 
orSzareTi?*"""  ""^  ^^^  ""'''^"'^  trau.slation  ..f  the  Ili 

CARDINAL  BEtJIX. 

Quebec. 


I  \ 


A  SKBIBS  or  SMALL  BOOKS  FKOM  THE  WKITIlfOS  OF 

i<T  ALI'HUN.*'  S    LIOL'OKI.  K.lli.d  by 

Rt.  R«v.  Alex.  MacOonald,  O.D. 
TAITINO  ON  OOI).  WALKINJ}  WITH  (;()I), 
KIK'J  WITH  (J01>.  VO»KIN(}  F«)K  HOD 

Ir.  at  and  hainly  form  tli«^f  deoply  dtnotlonal  work* 
are  muly  for  the  public.  Hinhop  MacDonald  hoH  made  a 
Judicial  HPh'ctlon  of  tho  moHt  utrlklnR  trea  .net-  on  the 
'ovi.  of  n.)d.  tho  little  Iwoks.  well  bound  and  cheap  are 
sjiltiihio  for  viMltH  to  the  Blensed  Sacrament.  Trivate  He- 
tr.'iifs  and  H,KH?laI  devotions,  etc.  They  will  be  highly  aiH 
jire>i,it<Ml    l»y    Iwth   young   and   old.— AVirarfc   Monitor. 

Th.'so  little  books  dral  with  the  various  phases  of  the 
«|.lrltu!il  life  and  imi,:  out  tht  way  to  attain  perfection. 
Tlu-y  can  Ih»  uswl  with  profit  for  spiritual  reudlnR  both  by 
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'iliwe  dellKhtful  and  very  helpful  little  works  will  prove 
veritable  treainures  to  all  who  art  honestly  trying  to  save 
their  souls.— H>«/cm  Cathulir. 

'Hie  subjects  are  well  chos-n  and  follow  a  natural  se- 
quence, viz.,  Importance  of  Salvation.  Eternity,  Death, 
llell.  Love  of  Jesus,  etc..  etc.— Tfte  Catholic  Timet,  Liver- 
pool,  England. 

These  are  charming  little  works  and  will  do  much  In 
promoting  the  greater  glory  of  God.  The  Cbristlan  Press 
iilw.iys  make  the  book  and  the  price  with  the  Intention  of 
leach' -I  the  greater  numbe's.— r/kc  Tablet. 

r.lsho,,  MacDonald  has  In  these  neat  and  attractive  little 
l><»<.lvs  gatliored  In  a  very  small  compass  much  of  the  very 
essence  of  the  numerous  writings  of  this  great  Doctor  of 
the  Church,  ani  hence  deser.e  a  wide  circulation.— TAe 
FJxponent. 

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